THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


/ 


GRANADA 


GRAN A  DA 

MEMORIES,  ADVENTURES,  STUDIES 

AND  IMPRESSIONS  :  BY  LEONARD 

WILLIAMS  :  CORRESPONDING  MEMBER 
OF  THE  ROYAL  SPANISH  ACADEMY  :  AUTHOR 
OF  "THE  LAND  OF  THE  DONS;"  "TOLEDO 
AND  MADRID;  THEIR  RECORDS  AND  RO- 
MANCES,"  ETC. 


WITH  24  ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  PHOTO- 
GRAPHS  AND  A  FRONTISPIECE  IN 
COLOUR  BY  A.  M.  FOWERAKER,  R.B.A. 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.    B.   LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

LONDON  :    WILLIAM   HEINEMANN 

MCMVI 


n 


t' 

K 


What  a  large  volume  of  adventures  may  be 
grasped  within  this  little  span  of  life  by 
him  who  interests  his  heart  in  everything, 
and  who,  having  eyes  to  see  what  time  and 
chance  are  perpetually  holding  out  to  him  as 
he  journeyeth  on  his  way,  misses  nothing  he 
can  fairly  lay  his  hands  on. — Sterne 


PRINTED    IN    ENGLAND 


All  rights  reserved 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

I.   A  Journey  South    ..... 
II.   The  Sacred   Mountain  .... 
III.   The  Sacred  Mountain  (continued) 
IV.   The  Sacred  Mountain  (concluded) 

V.  A  Cortijo  in  the   Sierra 
VI.   The  Summit  of  Xolair 
VII.   The  Snowstorm     ... 

VIII.  Revival 

IX.  How  I  Did  not  Climb  the  Trevenque 
X.   The  Ave  Maria  Colony 
XI.   A  Tractate  on  the  Gypsies  of  Granada 
XII.  The  Old  Road  to  Guadix     . 

XIII.  Guadix 

XIV.  A  Night  in  the  Albaycin 
XV.  The  Alhambra  by  Moonlight 


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List  of  Illustrations 


Page 


After-glow  :  the  Alhambra  and  the  Sierra  Nevada  from 
theAlbaycin FronUsi>iccc 

In  a  Garden  of  Granada   .         .'       . 

A  Moorish  Well  near  the  Sacro-Monte 

A  Gipsy  Lodging   on  the  Way  to  the  Sacro-Monte 

In  the  Albaycin 

The  Cortijo  of  San  Jeronimo         .... 
The  Sun  Rising  on  the  Peak  of  the  Veleta 

The  Lake  of  the  Mares 

Mulhacen  and  the  Alcazaba  from  the  Summit  of  th 

Veleta  

A  Snowstorm  Coming  up  the  Mountains   . 
A  Wild  Scene  on  the  Sierra  Nevada  . 
A  Good  Head  for  a  Height,  on   the    Summit  of   the 
Trevenque  ...••••■ 

The   Ave  Maria  Colony 

The  Fountain  of  the  Hazel  Tree 
The  Inn  of  the  Little  Mill,  from  the  Hill-side. 
The  Teeth  of  the  Old  Woman      .         .         ■         • 
The    Inn    of    the    Little    Mill,  on  the    Old    Road   to 
Guadix         ...•••■•• 


A  Wayside  Wineshop 


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XI 


ILiBt  of  aUustv 


The  Gateway  of  Guadix  . 

In  the  Albaycin 

The  Casa  del  Gallo  . 

A  Corner  in  the  Albaycin 

The  Alhambra;  the  Ladies'  Tower 

The  Alhambra;   the  Court  of  Cypresses 

The  Tower  of  Homage,  seen  from  the  Albaycin 


atlons 


Page 
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187 

189 

193 
201 
205 
211 


In  a  Garden  of  Granada 


A  Journej'  South 

HE  Catalan  poet  and  satiri.st  Bartrina 
lias  declared  that  the  substance  (as 
distinguished  from  the  vehicle)  of  a 
man's  talk  is  self-suHicieiit  to  disclose 
his  nationality.  Let  me  sui>;ii-cst  that 
another  index  is  the  way  a  man  performs  his  travel- 
ling. The  French  traveller  gig-oles,  the  Spanish 
traveller  jabbers,  and  the  English  traveller  growls. 
Precisely  on  the  evening  which  took  me  southwards 
to  Granada  I  snatched  a  golden  opportunity  of 
putting  this  observation  to  the  test,  for  all  three 
nationalities  were  represented  in  my  own  compart- 
ment of  the  railway  carriage,  tenanted  by  growling 
English,  giggling  French,  and  jabbering  Spaniards. 
But  since  I  had  listened  to  one  of  Maura's  sjieeches 

1  A 


(5iana&a 

the  day  before,  and  had  no  sympathy  with  growling, 
jabbering,  or  giggling  at  that  moment,  I  tipped  the 
guard  to  find  me  a  solitary  seat  and  bundled  off' 
elsewhither. 

Night  in  La  Mancha.  Night  in  all  cjuarters  of 
the  world  is  desolate,  but  in  La  Mancha !  A  sultry 
night  in  August.  The  passage  of  the  train  creates 
a  current  of  hot  air :  even  the  moon  shines  fire.  A 
lonely  land ;  a  land  of  vacancy  or  units,  this  La 
]Mancha.  One  vast,  unbounded  blot  upon  the  ample 
breast  of  Spain.  No  map  denotes  the  limits  of  La 
Mancha.  You  may  begin  or  end  it  where  you  please. 
One  chalky  desert,  extending  anywhere  and  every- 
where. At  infinite  distances  a  single  cornfield,  a 
single  vineyard,  a  single  mound,  a  single  stream,  a 
.single  sheepfold,  looking,  with  its  huddled,  amal- 
gamated inmates,  like  a  creamy  and  gigantic  mush- 
room ;  a  single  tree,  upsprouting  from  the  sunburnt, 
wind-swept,  mirthless  prairie  to  prick  the  torrid 
heaven ;  a  solitary  windmill  by  the  way  ;  a  solitary 
cottage,  one-doored,  one-windowed,  with  possibly  a 
solitary  tenant  slumbering  in  the  open,  up  against 
the  walL  Even  the  scanty  stations  are  isolated  from 
the  villages  or  towns  whose  name  they  bear,  seeming 
to  have  strayed  as  far  as  possible  from  these,  and 
squatted  beside  the  rails  in  order,  as  it  were,  to  take 
a  peep  at  passing  civilisation. 

You  remember  Y^orick's  definition  of  a  traveller  ? 

"  The  man  who  either  disdains  or  fears  to  walk  up  a 

dark  entiy  may  be  an  excellent  good  man,  and  fit 

for  a  hundred  things ;  but  he  will  not  do  to  make  a 

^•ood  sentimental  traveller."     "  Well  but,''  you  ob- 

o 


B  3ouvnc\:  Soutb 

ject,  "  this  definition  is  only  i)iu-ti;il.  We  see  things 
nowadays  \\  ith  the  brain,  or  with  both  brain  and  eyes, 
or  merely  with  the  eyes;  but  very  seldom  with  the  heart. 
Have  you  no  definition  of  a  traveller  generally — 
of  a  modern,  matter-of-fact  traveller,  now  that  senti- 
mentalism  is  sadly  on  the  wane  ?""  I  think  I  have. 

The  man  who,  when  he  travels  by  night,  remem- 
bers to  wind  up  his  watch,  knows  how  to  travel  :  he 
merits,  without  reserve,  the  name  of  traveller.  I 
drew  my  timepiece  forth  and  found  it  ticking  feebly, 
hastened  to  ply  the  key,  and  saved  my  re]>utation  as 
a  traveller  by  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Then  I 
went  off  to  sleep  and  dreamed  that  old  Don  Quixote 
was  "holding-up"  the  train.  When  I  awoke,  the 
summit  of  Despenajierros  was  sailing  overhead,  tipped 
with  pale  yellow  against  a  paling  sky.  Night  and  La 
Mancha  might  have  never  been.  Yonder,  suffused 
with  sunlight,  lay  the  olive-groves  of  Andalusia.  The 
olive  is  an  ugly  tree;  its  shape  is  mean;  its  colour,  as 
llusinol  would  say,  is  that  of  a  faded  \'enetian  blind. 
Who  could  aspire  to  counterfeit  the  mournful  elegance 
of  the  weeping  willow,  the  hauteur  of  the  elm,  or  the 
rugged  majesty  of  the  mountain  pine.^  But  the 
olive  !  Twist  a  shred  of  dingy  green  paper  about  an 
inch  or  two  of  black  wire — say  a  straightened  hair- 
pin— and  factum  est.  Your  hands  have  jMoved  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  as  cunning  as  those  of 
Mother  Nature.* 

*  Since  writing  this  I  find  that  Arthur  Young  was  just  of  my 
opinion.  "  Descend  mountains  terraced  for  olives,  which  grow 
well  in  rocks  but  add  nothing  to  their  beauty  ;  insomuch  that 
cloathing  a  naked  country  with  this  most  ugly  of  all  trees,  adds 
nothing  to  the  pleasure  of  the  eye." — Tour  in  Catalonia. 

3 


Ovana^a 

^Vhatever  bards  may  twitter  to  the  contrary,  no 
olive  has  ever  beautified  a  land,  except  symbolically. 
Yet  I  was  glad  to  see  these  olives  now.  Their 
presence  betokens  Andalusia ;  their  history  is  older 
than  the  Flood.  Tradition  says  their  parallel  or 
diagonal  files  and  uniform,  fluffy  aspect  suggested 
first  the  madronera  of  the  rnaja — that  singular,  grace- 
ful overskirt  whose  use,  unhappily,  decreases  day  by 
day.  Soon  other  signs  revealed  "  the  Land  of  Holy 
Mary'' — sunburnt  fields,  with  galaxies  of  scarlet 
])oppy ;  sunburnt  sierras,  brown  and  yellow,  melting 
into  blue  ;  dry  river  channels  fringed  with  prickly 
])ear  ;  snowy  cortijos ;  a  ruined  castle  on  a  hill.  A 
land  of  peace,  though  not,  alas,  of  plenty,  scarred  by 
innumerable  wars,  plundered  by  crafty  priests  and 
conscienceless  caciques*  gnawed  by  centuries  of  mal- 

*  The  Andalusian  millionaire  and  potentate,  a  sordid,  gross, 
unschooled,  ill-spoken  type,  whether  he  ostentates  a  title  or  not, 
has  nearly  always  made  his  wealth  by  usury,  or,  as  he  calls  it, 
banking.  A  prominent  beato,  at  some  time  or  other  he  spares 
enough  from  his  thievings  to  present  a  gewgaw  lo  the  local 
"  Virgin."  For  this  his  fellow  townsmen  almost  canonize  him, 
while  gaping  rustics  grow  doubly  eager  to  confide  their  scrapings 
to  his  pious  charge,  or  pay  him  twenty  per  cent,  per  month  for 
an  advance  upon  their  crops.  Of  course  he  bends  his  knees  to 
the  Viaticum,  kisses  the  bishop's  ring,  subscribes  to  the  clerical 
newspaper,  and  frequents  mass.  "When  a  man  of  business," 
said  Ganivet,  "  conceals  himself  in  the  cloak  of  piety,  he  is  more 
to  be  feared  than  a  Kruppgun."  Indeed,  the  villainy  of  any 
Spaniard  may  normally  be  estimated  by  the  fervour  of  his 
churchmanship.  Perhaps  in  this  respect  Spain  and  Great 
Britain  do  not  differ  very  vastly.  Reverting  to  our  Andalusian 
millionaire,  he  has  no  energy  except  for  sucking  blood,  and 
storms  in  pretty  language  against  the  British,  German,  French, 
or  Belgian  capital  and  enterprise  which  fortify  the  land  whose 
entrails  he  himself  is  seeking  to  devour. 

4 


H  3ouincv;  South 

administration.  .V  land  whose  ocx-upants,  thn)ii<;li 
mingled  indolence  and  ignorance,  are  ever  falling 
backward  in  the  feverish,  inevitable  race;  nonchahmt 
suicides  whose  best  ambition  is  gdzjuicho  and  a 
cigarette — bad  aliment  and  worse  tobacco  ;  who>e 
onlv  merriment  the  twani;  of  the  lumibrious  uuitar. 
Whenever  I  visit  Andahisia,  the  same  (juestion 
repeats  itself  to  me.  How  can  a  people  live  upon  so 
little,  and  live  so  long? 

\et  still  the  Andalusian  peasant  smiles  and  sings. 
I  could  hear  them  from  the  train — those  semi-nasal, 
semi-guttural  copla-s;  thrown  to  the  wind  as  we  thi-ow 
promises  or  prayers.  And  then  the  colour  of  the 
scene — red,  and  green,  and  yellow  saddlebags  and 
nosebands,  flowers  by  the  wayside,  flowers  in  the 
women's  hair.  Or  what  of  this  f  Before  the  white- 
washed wall  of  a  (ottage  a  sheet  of  golden  maize 
spread  out  upon  the  road ;  seated  beside  the  maize  a 
couple  of  tortoiseshell  cats  ;  in  the  doorway  a  little 
old  woman  with  bright  silver  hair  and  a  pink  jacket; 
and,  over  all,  the  sky  of  Andalusia.  Just  as  the 
cottage  dwindled  we  overtook  a  tall  mule  with  two 
riders,  a  lad  of  some  fourteen  years  and  a  smaller 
brother  clinging  round  his  middle.  The  latter  urchin 
was  nearly  naked,  and  his  brown  legs  shone  a  perfect 
terra  di  Siena  in  the  rising  light.  He  might  have 
started  out  of  a  picture  by  Raphael. 

The  resignation  of  these  Andalusians  passes  all 
belief.  At  one  point  on  our  journey  a  countrified 
fellow  mounts  the  footboard,  but  fails  to  turn  the 
handle,  which  is  stiff.  "  Que  g-rasia  .'"  he  exclaims, 
grinning  in   upon   the   passengers,  '■^  :c/i(it  a  Joke !'^ 

5 


©l•ana^a 

The  spirit  of  his  remark  is  deeply  wise,  after  the 
local  manner  of  philosophy.  He  may  or  may  not 
lose  the  train  ;  but  at  least  the  sticking  of  the  door- 
handle is  worth  a  chuckle.  According  to  this 
standard,  nothing  is  wholly  tragic.  Unluckily,  the 
converse  must  be  true  as  well;  "their  enjoyment  is 
attended  even  with  a  sigh ; ''  and  hence  it  is  that 
Andalusian  laughter  never  seems  unmixed  with 
tears. 

At  one  of  the  stations  three  beggars  were  labour- 
ing along  the  platform.  Labouring  in  two  senses. 
In  the  first  sense  they  were  exercising  the  labour 
which  belongs  to  their  profession.  Whether  that 
labour  is  better  or  worse,  or  worse  or  better  paid, 
or  harder  or  softer  than  other  of  its  kinds  and  rami- 
fications, is  not  our  business  at  this  moment  to 
inquire.  And  then  {labour  number  two)  they  were, 
to  use  the  dictionary  term,  "  moving  slowly,  as 
against  opposition,  or  under  a  burden."  All  the 
three  had  seen  extended  service  in  contriving  income 
from  decay  (a  feat  notoriously  bevond  the  means  of 
many  a  moneyed  potentate),  and  now  were  fired  with 
all  the  art  and  inspiration  of  decrepitude.  This  is 
a  sober  truth.  The  only  occupation  we  exercise  with 
better  zest  and  strength,  and  larger  honorariums  as 
time  inclines  our  bodies  and  numbs  our  intellect,  is 
that  of  mendicancy ;  some  falling  back  upon  the 
stranger  public,  others  upon  their  friends,  or  sons,  or 
daughters.  So  that  in  this  good  world  that  feeds 
and  shelters  all,  even  senility  is  marketable ;  and 
imbecility,  whether  in  youth  or  age,  conspicuously 
so. 

6 


"R  Journey  Sout(3 

Returiiino"  to  the  academic  as  distinguished  from 
the  virtual  beggars,  I  say  that  all  these  three  were 
far  advanced  in  years.  Two  were  old.  The  third, 
almost  beyond  the  range  of  any  adjective,  was  in- 
iinitely  older.  His  face,  in  F'lij^-ard.s-  expressive 
metaphor,  might  just  have  been  the  Wandering 
Jew's,  if  that  blasphemer  had  survived  from  Christ 
till  now.  Besides  being  senior  to  his  fellows.,  he  also 
was  the  raggedest  and  most  authoritative  ;  for  tatters 
in  a  mendicant  are  positively  modish,  and  onlv  con- 
secjuential  beggars  can  aftbrd  to  ostentate  them.  This 
beggar  wore,  undoubtedly,  an  air  of  chieftainship, 
though  all  the  gang  were  full  of  varied  interest.  A 
statistician  would  compute  for  us  the  quantity  of  dirty 
copper  which  had  passed  between  those  thirty  thumbs 
and  fingers  in  the  course  of,  say,  a  hundred  years,  show- 
ing us  in  a  deft,  comparative  picture  on  the  colunni 
plan,  the  beggar  in  the  middle,  the  copper  upon  one 
side  of  him,  and  the  dirt  (allowing  something  extra  for 
the  superadded  grime  of  travelled  money)  upon  tin: 
other.  I  wonder  which  of  the  ]n\u<  would  reach  the 
highest. 

But  I  am  not  a  statistician  ;  and  what  amused  me 
most  was  watching  the  co-operative  system  of  the 
veteran  three.  I  found  their  propaganda  admirably 
plaiuied  and  admirably  executed.  jNIuttering  a  suit- 
able supplicatory  phrase,  they  crawled  before  the 
carriages  in  solemn  single  file.  If  you  were  looking 
out  of  the  window,  the  first  would  pass  you  by  almost 
ignored.  But  then  the  second  came  along  and  called 
your  vagrant  notice  back,  and  when  the  third  arrived 
your  hand    obeyed  the  summons  automatically.      I 

7 


©ranaSa 


watched  the  case  with  eager  speculation.  At  every 
turn  they  took,  the  third  and  last  received  the  fixed 
attention  and  the  tangible  reward. 

Three  men,  I  thought  (remembering  Horatius  and 
his  helpers),  can  surely  make  a  better  stand  against  the 
universe  than  merely  one;  so  these  associated  indigents 
})arade  in  shrewd  alliance  their  tatters  and  anticjuity 
as  every  train  goes  past.  V Union  fait  hi  force. 
Turning  to  another  foreign  language  ;  "  When  you 
have  a  good  thing,""  said  one  of  our  American  cousins, 
"  push  it."  In  this  example  the  iteration  of  the  propa- 
ganda proves  itself.  Debility  and  dirt  compose  the 
goodness.  Your  young  and  lusty  beggars  are  at  best 
probationers!  What  do  they  earn  compared  with 
master-craftsmen  ?  Nezo  rags  are  unconvincing  and 
theatrical,  nor  is  the  dirt  of  ages  gathered  in  an 
hour.  You  have  seen  Gringoire  on  the  stage  ?  Did 
he  look  dirty  ?  He  seems  to  me  a  gentleman  who 
has  just  come  out  of  a  motor  accident.  To  these, 
upon  the  contrary,  the  dirt  accumulated  and  matured 
across  innumerable  lustrums  is  worth  its  weight  in 
glory  and  in  gold. 

I  repeat  that  the  line  between  beggardom  and 
non-bcggardom  becomes  in  many  places  quite  imagi- 
nary. Who  shall  lay  down,  even  to  the  splitting 
of  a  hair,  the  just  and  proper  definition  of  a  mendi- 
cant ?  Not  (speaking  of  what  I  know)  the  historic 
codes  of  Spain.  True,  the  Siete  Partidas,  the  Or- 
denamiento  de  los  Menestrales  of  Pedro  the  Cruel 
(1351),  the  Ordenamiento  de  Toro  (1369),  the 
Cortes  of  Burgos  of  1379,  and  the  Ordenamiento 
of  Briviesca  of    1387  —  all  these  provide  ferocious 

8 


H  5oiuncv  South 

fines  or  torments  for  .able-bodied  be<>;gar.^  of  tiie 
kiniidom.  The  citv  of  Toledo  even  decreed  their 
death.*  But  how  about  the  soldier  and  tiie  priest, 
who  positively  <jjutted  Spam  tin-ou<Thout  the  Middle 
Ages?  The  })riest,  "founding  his  temporal  estate 
upon  the  spiritual  estate  of  the  faithful,"  spends 
money  but  does  not  produce  it.  Exactly  the  same 
remark  applies  to  the  soldier.  \Vhy  nIiouIcI  not 
these  be  maidiraiitcs  Vdl'/di,  or,  as  the  old  ("astilian 
has  it,  haldfos  f 

It  is  preposterous  to  take  for  granted  that  the 
only  kind  of  mendicant  is  a  frowsy  wretch  who 
pesters  or  pleads  upon  the  pavement  for  a  copper 
coin.  How  easy  it  is  to  show  that  mendicity,  like 
tleath,  ipquo  pidsat  pede  paupennii  tuhernus  regurnqiic 
turrt's  ;  infects  and  exercises  in  all  walks  of  lite,  well- 
nio-h  without  discrimination.  The  other  day  a  young 
and  beautiful  lady  of  title  came  to  my  house  to  solicit 
a  contribution  towards  some  jewels  for  a  (wooden) 
"  Viriiin.''''  I  can  recall  no  other  instance  where  beaut \ 
in  a  woman  has  disgusted  and  reiielled  me.  AVhat 
business  had  this  begging  dame  to  set  a  sensual  snare 
for  a  spiritual  purpose?  What  did  she  come  to  my 
house  to  beg  for?  Money?  Not  only  money. 
When  I  asked  the  maid  what  kind  of  a  stranger- 
visitor  was  waiting  in  my  anteroom,  ''  /jouiig^''  I  was 
told,  ''a)id  vcrjj  handsome^  This,  then,  was  what 
the  Countess  of came  to  beg  for. 

*  '•  Por  la.primera  vez  dardn  a  cada  Jino  dellos  cincuenta  azotes 
piiblicamente  por  ena  cibdad,  i  detnas  que  los  echardn  a  azotes  fiuia  de 
la  cibdad:  c'  por  la  seqimda  vez  que  les  cortardn  las  orejas  ;  J  por  la 
tcrcera  vez  que  los  mandardii  ttiatar  porello."—!fiforme  de  la  Imperial 
cindad  de  Toledo  sobre  pesos y  medidas  ;  1400,  p.  103. 

9 


OianaSa 

Again,  not  long  ago  I  asked  a  Spanish  comandante 
to  lunch  with  nie  at  Lhardy's,  in  Madrid.  He  came, 
and  brought  three  friends  of  his,  all  officers  of  the 
army,  like  himself,  who  all  sat  down  and  gorged  at 
my  expense.  Close  to  the  doorway  of  the  same  estab- 
lishment lingers  an  old  blind  pauper,  who  whines  at 
intervals  for  an  ochavo.  Am  I  to  call  this  old  blind 
man  a  mendicant,  but  not  this  officer  ?  I  will  dis- 
tinguish here.  The  blind  old  man,  by  merely  mut- 
tering his  question  more  or  less  into  my  private  ear, 
left  me  a  loophole  of  escape.  \ot  so  the  comandante. 
"  I  beg,"'  he  said,  "  to  introduce  my  friends,  Fulano, 
Perez,  and  INIengano.  Perhaps  ifoxi  ic'dl  not  mind 
their  Joining  ns  ? ""  So  in  this  case  the  soldier  was — 
the  soldier  ;  but  only  the  old  blind  pauper  was  the 
gentleman. 

A  similar  confusion  has  prevailed  at  every  period 
of  this  nation's  history.  Her  former  laws  attempted 
vainlv  enough  to  point  a  difference  from  the  moneyed 
to  the  pauper  mendicant.  The  shrewd,  observant 
Ganivet  remarks,  as  closely  coexistent  and  con- 
nected, a  plebeian  and  an  aristocratic  beggardom, 
sketching,  in  master  terms,  the  inendicitijofthe  noble — 
*•'  the  hidalgo  who  gloats  over  the  admirable  temper  of 
his  sword,  and  over  his  imaginary  estates,  who  dreams 
of  grandeur  and  supports  himself  upon  the  crusts 
collected  by  his  servant."  Late  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  a  report  presented  to  the  Spanish  Govern- 
ment declared  that  it  was  a  matter  of  the  utmost 
nicety  to  winnow  the  indigent  from  the  well-to-do  ; 
adding  that  swarms  of  beggars  nere  wont  to  game 
awav  their  earnings  in  vaults  and  taverns,  "  meddling 

10 


B  ."^ouincv   Soutb 

with  meat  and  diink,  and  cvcrv  other  form  of  vice." 
Obviously  a  pauper  who  leads  this  kind  of  life  is 
nothing  of  a  pauper.  The  same  report  goes  on  to 
say  that  many  of  the  women  mendicants  were  known 
to  possess  "excellent  houses,  jewels,  fowlyards,  and 
money  in  abundance."  A  royal  cedula  of  August  24, 
1540,  affirms  that  the  beggars  "  have  their  concu- 
bines, and  lead  an  evil  and  dishonest  life,  with  grave 
excess  in  eating,  drinking,  (did  other  v'lccsr  The 
Ordinances  of  Madrid  for  the  year  1439  provide  that 
no  able-bodied  beggar  is  to  remain  in  the  city  for 
longer  than  three  days,  on  pains  of  a  hundred  lashes 
if  he  go  afoot;  but  if  he  be  on  horsebdck  he  is  to  lose 
his  beast.  Salazar  declared  mendicity  to  be  "the  only 
trade  in  which  a  Spaniard  of  the  seventeenth  century 
would  deign  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  his  father 
and  his  ancestors,  considering  it  to  be  the  usefullest, 
easiest,  and  most  unfettered  of  all  occupations.""  In 
no  country  is  it  so  common  to  be  asked  for  alms  by 
perfectly  well-dressed,  well-fed  ])eople  as  in  Spain. 
Late  in  the  eighteenth  century  the  Economic  Society 
of  Madrid  described  the  same  abuse ;  and  assuredly 
Philip  the  Fourth  grew  no  less  popular  when  he  hung- 
up a  bag  in  the  churches  of  Madrid,  enabling  his 
subjects  to  boast  that  "  they  had  given  an  alms  to 
the  King  of  Spain." 

Partly  from  indolence,  partly  from  ignorance, 
partly  from  a  false  appreciation  of  the  jirinciples 
of  human  rather  than  Roman  Catholic  charity, 
Spain  has  at  all  times  viewed  the  beggar's  trade  in 
various  of  its  fornis  with  scarcely  veiled  complaisance. 
A  proof  of  this  is  in  the  number  of  her   mendicants, 

11 


6l•ana^a 

and  in  the  quantity  of  relief  provided  for  them." 
Campomanes  estimated  their  total  in  his  day  at  thirty 
thousand  trne  paupers,  and  one  hundred  and  forty 
thousand  idle  paupers.  In  1782,  ^Madrid  alone  dis- 
tributed in  alms  two  hundred  and  twentv-five  thou- 
sand reales,  and  in  1783,  including  the  King's 
contribution,  half  a  million ;  all  this  in  a  poor, 
thinly  populated,  and  exhausted  capital.  Further- 
more, a  papal  brief  of  ^larch  14th,  1780,  empowered 
Charles  the  Third  to  devote  a  third  part  of  the  entire 
revenues  of  the  Church  to  almsgiving.  Campomanes 
had  previously  computed  the  amount  of  money  lost 
to  the  nation  by  the  collective  idleness  of  her  mendi- 
cants at  one  hundred  and  eighty-two  millions  of 
reales  per  annum  ;  and  Kodrigo  Caro  and  Ortiz  de 
Zuiiiga  assure  us  that  early  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  when  Spain  was  in  her  most  impoverished 
condition,  the  charities  of  Seville  exceeded  seven 
millions  of  reales  yearly.  Over  and  over  again  the 
prisons  of  the  realm  were  choked  with  mendicants  ; 
but  the  State  lacked  funds  to  support  them,  and 
since  they  could  not  be  allowed  to  starve  outright, 
vomited  them  forth  once  more  upon  societ}. 

Accepting  for  a  moment  the  trite  and  vulgar  defi- 
nition of  a  mendicant,  it  were  "  a  harder  alchymy  than 
Lullius  ever  knew ""  to  point  the  difference  of  a  moral 
millimetre  between  this  creature  and  the  Spanish 
priest ;  or  between  the  same  creature,  the  Spanish 
thief  or  bandit,  and  the  Spanish  common  soldier 
at  least  throughout  the  Middle  Ages  and  even  later. 
All  of  those  types  subsisted  on  pillage  obtained  by 
force  or  fraud.     The    Royal    Letter  of  1540   from 

12 


1\  ."^ouincv  South 

which  I  have  ah-eady  c|Uoted,  coinphiins  in  bitter 
language  of  the  hordes  of  mendicants  who  roamed 
about  the  land  "  under  the  guise  of  pilgrims  and  of 
hermits,"'''  Indeed,  the  monks  and  clergy  (mendicants 
themselves)  encouraged  the  beggar  as  their  most 
productive  agent.  The  picarescjue  literature  of 
Spain  divides  its  scope,  without  the  slightest  pre- 
ference, between  the  beggar  and  the  bandit  ;  and 
truly  the  difference  is  little  more  than  fanciful 
between  the  pauper  who  harries  you  along  the  street 
as  he  demands  your  money,  and  the  pauper  who 
claps  a  pistol  to  your  head  and  makes  the  same 
demand  upon  the  highroad  :  or  again,  between  the 
bandit  and  the  soldier-gaolbird,  whose  only  regular 
pay  consists  in  plunder.  Such  were  the  Spanish 
armies  in  the  Netherlands,  and  the  forces  sent  against 
the  Moriscos  of  the  Alpujarra.  These  latter  would 
melt  mysteriously  away  between  the  night  and 
morning,  and  when  their  leaders  came  to  look  for 
them  were  found  to  be  engaged  in  looting  innocent 
])eople's  property. 

Certainly  the  beggar  has  proved  as  serviceable  a 
go-between  to  the  criminal  as  to  the  priest.  "  They 
pass  with  ease,"  says  an  old  account,  "  from  begging 
to  every  kind  of  wickedness.""  How  near  mendicity 
is  to  theft  or  murder  is  shown  by  the  La::arillo  de 
Tormcs,  Rinconctc  y  CortadUlu,  and  similar  master- 
pieces of  the  picaresque.  Nor  has  the  office  of  the 
mendicant  in  Spain  been  always  even  nominally  pro- 
hibited. Spanish  towns  and  cities  have  frequently 
provided  licences  for  beggars  in  return  for  hire,  pre- 
tending   by  this    means    to    limit   the    privilege    of 

V6 


C5l•ana^a 


alms-asking  to  the  strictly  incapacitated  and  necessi- 
tous. But  here,  as  ever,  roguery  contrived  to 
triumph.  The  hcence  was  exhibited  in  the  form  of 
"  bronze  insignias,""  or  tablets  with  "  the  wearer's 
name  and  qualitv,'"  suspended  round  the  necks  of  the 
approved  practitioners.  In  1671  these  tablets  bore  a 
picture  of  the  Virgin.  But,  of  course,  the  beggars 
made  no  scruple  of  selling,  or  lending,  or  stealing 
one  another's  licences ;  and  very  soon  the  tablets 
and  "  insignias  ""  had  to  be  suppressed. 

In  one  of  the  raciest  of  his  "  custom  articles," 
the  brilliant  Larra  describes  a  number  of  "  liveli- 
hoods which  do  not  afford  a  livelihood  "  ;  in  plainer 
words,  those  petty  occupations  that  lurk  perforce 
upon  the  border-line  of  beggary.  How  often  have 
I  seen  a  ]\Iadrid  street-porter  supplicate  relief, 
although  with  his  coil  of  rope  upon  his  shoulder.  A 
similar  remark  is  applicable  to  the  flo\\  er-girls,  who 
offer  divers  wares  for  sale ;  to  the  gatherers  of 
cigarette  ends  ;  and  even  to  the  newsboys :  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  candeleros  who  used  to  hawk 
about  a  light  for  smokers  have  disappeared  from  this 
capital.  Formerly  the  law  prescribed  the  trades  and 
occupations  which  it  held  to  constitute  mendicity  ; 
such  as  (in  1745,  Ordenanzas  de  Vago.s;  ch.  5), 
gamblers,  drunkards,  "  those  who  maltreat  their 
wives  without  a  visible  cause,"  tumblers,  ball- 
throwers,  bagpipe-players,  exhibitors  of  magic- 
lanterns  or  performing  dogs  and  other  animals,  and 
sellers  of  sugarcane,  or  of  the  sweetstuff'  known  as 
turron. 

So,  taking  one  thing  with  another,  the  con- 
14 


fraternity  of  Spanish  mendicants  intrudes  on  every 
epocli  of  Spain's  history,  engrosses  or  affects  all 
classes  of  her  citizens.  On  this  account  their 
haughtiness  has  grown  proverbial.  Seized  with  pity 
for  an  aged  mendicant  who  used  to  crawl  iibont 
Madrid,  I  once  permitted  him  to  come  to  mv  house 
and  receive  daily  a  plate  of  soup  and  a  pennv.  Not 
many  days  had  passed  before  he  (piarrelled  with  mv 
servants,  complained  of  the  soup  (the  same  wliieh  was 
set  upon  my  table),  and  demanded,  not  onlv  an  in- 
crease of  sdlcmj,  but  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  beefsteak 
and  potatoes. 

While  I  was  busied  with  these  reflections,  some 
stations  slipped  away.  I  did  not  take  much  notice 
of  them;  firstly,  because  I  was  absorbed  with  the  pre- 
ceding observations  ;  and  secondly,  because  no  rail- 
way-station in  Spain  deserves  a  more  than  casual 
curiosity.  All  are  identical  in  barrenness  of  archi- 
tecture. Hear  how  Ganivet  describes  thenu  "  The 
railway-station  is  the  symbol  of  our  political  and 
administrative  incapacitv,  although  we  mav  console 
ourselves  with  the  thought  that  they  are  not  likely 
to  remain  long  standing  ;  their  term  of  life  is  marked 
out  for  them  by  their  builders;  and  v.hen  a  mistake 
creeps  in,  we  become  by  so  much  more  the  gainers."' 

Nevertheless,  at  one  of  these  stations  nrar  to 
Granada — though  whether  the  nearest  or  the 
nearest  but  one  or  two,  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me 
recall — a  small  girl,  probably  the  station-masters 
daughter,  hardly  old  enough  to  walk  alone,  was 
nursing  a  toy  lamb  on  the  platform.  Even  an 
inftint's  mind  is  sensitive  to  metaphor;  more  ^o,  it 
15 


(ranaJa 


may  be,  than  our  own.  Gazing  from  her  toy  to- 
wards the  cirro-cumukis  of  the  early  morning,  "  the 
horregiiitos^''  she  cried,  "  O  look  at  the  horreguitos'"  ; 
and  truly  those  oval,  fleecy  cloudlets  were  not  un- 
like innumerable  flocks  at  pasturage  upon  an  azure 
plain. 

Yet  presently,  as  if  the  hand  of  God  had  taken 
an  invisible  sponge  and  wiped  the  face  of  heaven 
clean,  the  horrcgiiitos  vanished. 


16 


A  Moorish  Well  near  the  Sacro-Monte 


II 

The  Sacred  Mountain 

^tN  a  cloudless  October  nioniini;- — one  of 
the  finest  I  recall  in  any  land — I  started 
to  walk  to  the  church  and  college  of 
the  Sacro-Monte  of  Granada,  It  was 
a  Sundav,  too,  and  the  streets  were 
throng-ed  with  mass-goers,  water-sellers,  strollers, 
])edlars,  and  every  other  class  of  passenger.  At  the 
end  of  the  Plaza  Nueva,  just  where  the  road  l)ends 
off  beside  the  gracefid  Mudejar  tower  of  the  Church 
of  Santa  Ana,  a  woman  was  frying  at  a  stall  the 
circular  cakelets  with  a  hole  in  the  middle  vulgarly 
denominated  tejer'mgos  or,  more  politely  and  less 
locallv,  churros:  Even  in  so  radiant  a  landscape 
this  patch  of  brightness  stood  out  ablaze  with  colour; 

17  B 


Ol•ana^a 


the  yellow  discs  immerged  in  bubbling  oil:  the 
pearly  smoke,  the  bunch  of  fresh-cut  reeds — on  which 
to  thread  the  merchandise — hanging  beside  the  stove. 
But  the  woman  was  (as  women  surely  have  the  essential 
right  to  be)  the  brightest  note  of  all.  A  :Manila  ker- 
chief decked  her  shoulders;  her  cheeks  and  fingers  were 
ruddy  with  the  fire,  and  I  noticed  with  pleasure  and 
surprise  that  even  the  lustre  of  her  jetty  hair  reflected 
the  azure  of  the  sky. 

The  way  to  the  Sacro-^NIonte  lies  first  of  all  along 
the    Carrera    del    Darro,    where    once    stood    forty 
Moorish  palaces  within  the  health-restoring  quarter 
of  the  Haxariz.     Nowadays  some  few  of  the  houses 
wear  yet  an  ancient   look,  and  even    many  of  the 
modern  ones  possess  a  subtle  picturesqueness  all  their 
own.     Sometimes  their  walls  are  rose,  or  tawny,  or 
vermilion ;  or  strings  of  flaming  capsicums  are  hang- 
ing from   the  window.     Upon  this  morning  a  girl 
leant  over  the  railing  of  a  balcony,  tapping  a  tiny 
foot  on  Seville  tiles  embosomed  in  a  multitude  of 
flowers.     Her  cheeks,  caressed  by  large  and  flashing 
earrings  reminiscent  of  the  Moor,  were  flushed  with 
vigour  and  fresh  air.     Her  glossy  hair,  as  yet  un- 
dressed, was  loosely  held  by  a  claret-coloured  ribbon  ; 
and  overhead  a  canary,  whose  breakfast  she  had  just 
provided,  shrilled  forth  her  praises  from  an  emerald 
cao-e.     Before  I  took  my  eyes  from  her  a  blind  man 
came  along,  tapping  the   pavement  with  nis  stick. 
Never  in  all  my  life  had  I  so  pitied  blindness. 

Traversing  the  outskirts  of  the  town  I  climbed  the 
steeply  rising  road,  and  found  myself  upon  the  terrace 
of  the  Sacro-Monte. 

18 


cbc  Sacvc^  /iPoimtain 

The  buildiiii^-  itself,  erected  in  the  eailier  half  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  is  hardly  wortii  attenti(jn. 
A  chilly  church,  a  chilly  college,  a  chilly  courtyard, 
bordered  by  a  basement  and  a  single  storey  of  chilly 
corridors.  Along  these  corridors  are  eight  and 
twenty  arches,  oyer  which  are  carved  the  founder's 
arms  and  "the  cabalistic  star  of  Solomon,  the  em- 
blem of  the  house."  Yet  though  the  fabric  is  so 
cheerless  in  itself,  it  has  a  southerly  aspect  and  over- 
looks the  lovely  valley  of  the  Darro  onto  the  historic 
caves  of  "  Father  Piquinote,"  and  the  equally  historic 
carmen  of  the  Genoese  Pascasio.  The  canons' residence, 
between  the  college  and  the  chiu'ch,  has  room  for 
twenty  prebendaries  and  six  chaplains.  The  seminary, 
whic-h  is  at  the  eastern  end,  harbours  a  hundred  and 
fifty  scholars,  clerical  and  lay.  The  church,  a  simjily- 
vaulted  structure,  contains  some  paintings  worth  ex- 
amination— five  by  Kisueno,  and  an  Iiiuiutnihttc  Con- 
ception attributed  to  Nino  de  Guevara,  a  pu})il  of 
Alonso  Cano ;  but  the  altar,  dating  from  the  middle 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  is  hideous.  At  one  side  is 
a  passage  containing  a  Birth  oj' Christ,  by  Carducho, 
typical  of  that  artist  both  in  colour  and  in  stiffness ;  a 
Conccption,hy  Peter  Raxis ;  aMarfji/rdojn  of  Snntiaffo, 
by  Bocanegra;  and  a  Saint  Martin,  l)y  Risueno.* 

*  A  native  of  Granada,  equally  distinguished  in  painting  and 
in  sculpture.  He  stands  high  up  in  the  second  class  of  Spanish 
painters  ;  and  this,  in  the  land  of  Velazquez,  Alonso  Cano,  and 
Goya,  is  not  a  little.  Kisueno  was  born  about  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  and  died,  according  to  Cean.  in  1721. 
Raxis  was  not  a  Granadino,  although  he  passed  a  great  part  of 
his  life  here.  Bocanegra,  a  pupil  of  Alonso  Cano,  and.  like  his 
master,  a  native  of  this  city,  was  a  fairly  fashionable  painter  of 
the  seventeenth  century.     The  manner  of  his  death  was  curious. 

19 


0^ana^a 

From  this  recess  we  enter  the  Sacred  Caverns  of 
the  Sacred  Mountain — gloomy  and  constricted  sub- 
terranean passages,  opening  out  at  intervals  into  a 
small,  well-lighted  chapel.  The  unusual  effect  of 
this  suggested  to  Jimenez-Serrano  a  pretty  and  a 
prettily  expressed  conceit.  He  says :  "  On  passing 
through  these  galleries  dug  out  between  the  bowels 
of  the  mountain,  and  issuing  therefrom  into  the 
pleasant  clearness  of  the  chapels,  we  seem  to  witness 
a  combat  of  our  inmost  thouo-hts  and  roam  through 
dismal  paths  of  ignorance  and  doubt,  until  we  fix 
our  eves  on  God,  the  li";ht  of  all  creation."* 

Now  let  me  tell  the  story  of  these  caves — a  longish 
story,  though  full  of  interest,  social,  national  and 
psychological — the  story  of  the  most  astonishing, 
amusing,  and  protracted  swindle  that  the  world  has 
ever  heard  of. 

In  1588  an  ancient  tower  was  standing  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  city  of  Granada,  close  to  where  we  now 
observe  the  Sagrario  of  the  cathedral.  About  this 
tower  old  writers,  and  even  comparatively  recent 
ones,  have  echoed  or  invented  sundry  legends,  main- 
taining it  to  be  of  prehistoric  or  Phoenician  origin. 
Echeverrfa  has  much  to  say  about  a  full-length  statue 
of  a    Roman    soldier,  discovered  somewhere   round 

A  younger  rival,  Teodoro  Ardemans,  irritated  by  Bocanegra's 
intolerable  vanity,  challenged  him  to  a  match  at  painting  each 
the  other's  portrait.  The  challenge  was  accepted  by  Bocanegra, 
and  Ardemans,  hitting  off  his  likeness  to  perfection,  proved  him- 
self the  better  of  the  two,  besides  completing  the  picture  within 
an  hour's  work.  The  duel,  notwithstanding  its  pacific  nature, 
had  a  fatal  consequence  :  for  Bocanegra,  stung  by  his  defeat, 
took  to  his  bed  and  died  a  few  days  after. 

"■■  Manual  del  Artista  y  del  Viajero  en  Granada,  p.  362. 

^0 


Zbc   SacvoJ  /mountain 

about  Granada,  and  bearing  this  i:iscription  at  the 
base,  Cuio  Ant'ist'io  Turpioni.  "  Here,"  he  com- 
ments, "  we  have  a  famous  man  called  C'aius  Anti^tius 
Turpion,  who  mav  have  <^iven  his  name  to  the  Torre 
Turpiana  (such  was  the  usual  title  of  this  tower, 
though  it  was  also  called  'the  ancient"  and  'the 
uninhabitable')  either  from  having  mended  it  or  else 
from  having  dwelt  in  it,  or  taken  it  bv  force  of 
arms."  He  adds  that  it  was  ancient  even  in  the  time 
of  Nero.*  Another  of  these  silly  scribes  is  Pedraza, 
who  assures  us  that  "erected  bv  the  Gentiles,""  it 
resembled  several  other  towers  standing  in  his  day. 
But  since  Echeverria  admits  that  it  was  also  similar 
to  the  Puerta  Nueva,  which  still  exists,  we  may  be 
sure  that  it  \vas  merely  a  Moorish  fabric,  probably  of 
a  defensive  kind,  and  dating  from  an  early  period  of 
the  Moorish  occupation. 

On  Friday  then,  March  18th,  1588,  the  tower 
was  beino;  thrown  down  to  make  wav  for  part 
of  the  Christian  temple.  A  day  later,  while  carting 
away  the  debris,  the  workmen  came  upon  a  leaden 
box,  caked  over  with  mud,  and  which,  being  opened  by 
the  overseer,  was  found  to  contain  a  piece  of  parch- 
ment, a  scrap  of  linen  in  the  shajje  of  an  obtuse- 
angled  triangle,  and  a  bone.  The  parchment  was 
covered  with  Arabic  writing,  headed  by  five  small 
crosses  disposed  so  as  to  form  a  single  large  one.  The 
substance  of  the  writing  claimed  to  be  a  projAecy  of 
Saint  John  the  Evangelist,  presented  by  Saint  Dio- 
nysius  to  Saint  Cecil,  patron  of  Granada,  uj)on  the 
latter's  visiting  Athens.     The  signature  ai)peared  to 

*  Paseos  por  Granada,  vol.  i.  p.  256. 
21 


©ranatia 

be  autographic,  and  read  as  follows  :  "  Cecil,  Bishop 
of'  Granada.'''' 

Pedraza  and  Echeverria  explain  that  the  writing 
on  the  parchment  formed  a  kind  of  cryptogram, 
chequered  with  sundry  letters  in  black,  and  others  in 
red ;  and  that,  when  the  black  letters  were  joined  and 
the  red  letters  were  joined,  each  batch  of  them  was 
found  to  form  "  a  clear  and  current  Spanish,  as 
polished  as  we  speak  it  at  this  day " ;  the  entire 
legend  constituting  a  prediction  of  the  end  of 
the  world.  A  transient  difficulty  was  presented  by 
the  fact  that  the  Arabic  and  the  Spanish  were  pre- 
cisely those  of  the  time  of  the  discovery  ;  until  a 
learned  doctor,  Lopez  Madera,  took  upon  himself  to 
show  that  the  Spanish  spoken  in  the  first  century  and 
that  of  the  sixteenth  were  identical — truly  a  tour  de 
force  of  scholarship.  The  parchment  itself  was 
examined  bv  experts,  who  pronounced  it  to  be  the 
skin  of  something,  but  neither  ram,  nor  ewe,  nor 
ffoat,  "  nor  any  other  beast  of  those  that  are  familiar 
to  us."""  The  relics,  says  Echeverria,  were  genuine 
bevond  all  doubt.  The  bone  was  of  the  proto- 
martvr  Stephen.  The  cloth  was  half  of  that  w  here- 
with the  Virgin  dried  her  tears  at  the  Passion  of  Our 
Lord ;  and  for  this  reason  the  Virgen  de  las 
Angustias  was  named  patrona  of  Granada — a  proud 
position  which  she  still  enjoys.  Strange  to  say, 
the  corresponding  half  was  found,  of  all  places 
in  the  world,  in  America — at  the  town  of  Puebla  de 
los  Angeles,  formerly  Tlascala.  Here,  once  again, 
the  unbiased  erudition  of  Echeverria  shall  be  of  use 
to    us.     "  Possibly,"   he   suggests,    "  long  years  ago 


Zhc  Sacrc?  flDountain 

America  was  joined  to  Palestine  by  stretches  of  land 
where  now  are  straits  of  water.' 

The  discoverv  in  the  Torre  Turpiana  was  rare 
enough  ;  but  rarer  finds  were  yet  to  come.  When 
the  excitement  created  by  the  prior  event  had  almost 
died  away ;  when  Vaca  de  Castro  had  succeeded 
Mendez  de  Salvatierra  as  archbishop  of  Granada ;  * 
and  when  the  process  instituted  to  classify  and  con- 
firm the  holy  rag,  and  bone,  and  parchment  had 
dragged  its  slow  length  along  for  several  years,  a 
further  series  of  discoveries  burst  forth  upon  the 
pious  people  of  Granada.  Just  then  a  favourite 
entertainment  of  the  poorer  citizens  consisted  in 
searching  the  hollows  and  the  hills  for  buried 
treasure,  not  of  a  spiritual  but  of  a  practical  descrip- 
tion ;  for  times  were  bad  and  the  Christian  Granadinos 
were  terribly  put  to  it  to  keep  alive  without  the  need 
of  work.  Upon  a  certain  day  in  1594  a  connnon  fellow 
by  name  Sebastian  Lopez,  accompanied  by  one 
Francisco  Garcia,  went  forth  to  look  for  treasure  on 

*  Ramos  Lopez  awards  a  tender  tribute  to  the  memory 
of  Vaca  de  Castro's  predecessors  for  their  stern  destruction 
of  the  baths  of  the  Moriscos — "asylums  of  voluptuousness,'' 
as  Seiior  Ramos  picturesquely  calls  them  (El  Sacio  -Monte 
de  Granada,  p.  i8).  Years  after  the  Moriscos  were  expelled, 
the  laws  of  Spain  provided  that  the  scanty  remnant  of  this 
tortured  people  were  "  not  to  possess  an  artificial  bath  in 
the  said  kingdom  of  Granada,  or  bathe  therein,  on  pain  of  fifty 
days  imprisonment,  two  years  banishment,  and  a  fine  of  a 
thousand  maravedis."  If  the  offence  (i.e.,  the  bathing)  were 
repeated,  the  criminal  was  to  be  fined  double.  If  he  proved  to 
be  incorrigibly  addicted  to  ablution,  and  washed  himself  yet  a 
third  time,  he  must  go  to  the  galleys  for  five  years  and  forfeit  the 
half  of  his  property. — Francisco  de  la  Pradilla,  Snma  de  Todas 
las  Leyes  Penales,  Canonicas,  Civiles,  y  destos  Reynos.    Madrid,  1628. 

2ii 


ffirana^a 

tlie  outskirts  of  the  town,  bearing  in  his  pocket  a 
written  "recipe"'''  in  which  he  greatly  trusted. 
These  were  its  directions  : 

"  When  Spain  was  lost,  a  mine  of  gold  that  used 
to  lie  between  Encesa  and  Cabrera,  upon  a  naked 
ridge  that  hath  blue  stones,  was  closed  within  the 
kingdom  of  Granada.  Within  the  mine  aie  nine  and 
forty  chambers.  Its  mouth  is  to  the  western  side ; 
and  in  those  days  they  used  to  draw  from  it  two 
ounces  and  a  half  of  gold  for  every  five  ounces  of  soil. 
This  mine  belonoed  to  the  king;  Don  Roderick ;  and 
when  Spain  was  lost,  the  miners  perished  beneath  a 
projecting  mass  of  earth,  thrown  down  at  the  mouth 
of  the  mine  in  order  that  the  Moors  miy-ht  not  avail 
themselves  thereof." 

So  much  for  the  "  recipe."  Sebastian,  proceeding 
for  a  while  along  the  Guadix  road,  at  length  drew 
near  to  what  is  now  the  Sacro-Monte.  After  scruti- 
nizing the  ridge,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
well  might  be  the  spot  referred  to  in  his  paper  : 
moreover,  some  stones  on  it  were  slightly  bluish.  So 
getting  to  work  he  discovered,  after  digging  for  a 
little  while,  what  seemed  to  be  a  rabbit-hole.  Down 
this  he  thrust  a  stick,  but  moving  the  stick  from  side 
to  side  and  not  encountering  a  limit  to  the  cavity,  he 
marked  the  spot  and  returned  to  Granada,  conveying 
with  him  a  fragment  of  cupriferous  stone,  which  a 
silversmith  ]n-onounced  to  contain  a  quarter  part  of 
copper.  Roused  by  this  analysis,  which  seemed  to 
tally  not  a  little  with  his  "  recipe,"  our  man  marched 
back  upon  the  morrow,  and  resumed  his  operations 
with    redoubled    vigour.     Widening    the  orifice,  he 

24 


"Cbc  Sacl•c^  /mountain 

found  beyond  it  a  tavc  with  a  levelled  Hoor  of  Nofti^li 
earth,  and,  digging  out  a  part  of  this,  a  large  stone, 
too  heavy  for  a  single  person  to  stir,  covering  tlu' 
entrance  to  a  second  cavern,  also  made  level  b\  a 
human  hand.  Two  nionths  were  taken  up  with  thcM.' 
investigations,  until,  upon  Fel)ruary  21  >t,  one  of 
Sebastian's  helpers,  bv  name  Francisco  Ilernande/. 
unearthed  a  strip  of  rotten  lead,  three  fingers  broad 
by  some  two  feet  in  length,  inscribed  at  one 
extremity  with  three  lines  of  clumsily  executed  Latin 
letters  of  cuneiform  design,  which  only  with  unusual 
pains  could  be  construed  into  the  following: 

coiu'vs  vsrr.M  Divi  mf.syioxis 

.MAltTVUlS  I'ASVS  EST  SV]i  XKltO 
XIS   LMI'KRATORIS    I'Oll'.XTATV 

On  jVIarch  15th,  1595,  and  after  its  interj)retation 
by  two  Jesuits,  notice  of  the  stri])  of  lead  was  given 
to  the  archbishop,  who  promptly  ordered  the 
searches  and  researches  to  continue  at  his  own 
expense.  Pedro  de  Castro  y  Quinones,  tenth  arch- 
bishop of  Granada,  was  the  son  of  Cristobal  Vaca 
de  Castro,  a  })rominent  Spaniard  who  liad  enriched 
himself  as  governor-general  of  Peru,  leaving  at  his 
demise  a  handsome  fortune.  His  son,  on  being- 
appointed  to  the  see  of  Granada,  is  stated  to  have 
said  that  he  accepted  the  post  with  extreme  reluct- 
ance, admitting  of  the  dignity  merely  to  giatifv  the 
king ;  but,  he  added,  God  was  sending  him  to 
iymuadiifor  .souic  great  cxrut.  This  great  event  is 
naturally  thou<<;ht  to  mean  the  fiiulinii  of  the  famous 
relics  of  the  Sacred  Mountain.      However,  in  fairness 


(3  vanafa 

to  the  prelate''s  memory  it  must  be  owned  that 
although  his  intellect  was  all  too  small,  and  his 
credulity  all  too  large,  Pedro  de  Castro  was  an 
earnest,  charitable,  and  well-meaning  man.  He  went 
through  life  revered  and  hoodwinked  simultaneously. 
In  personal  appearance  he  was,  Pedraza  tells  us, 
"  small  of  body  but  great  of  head."  His  labours, 
though  often  injudicious,  were  at  least  untiring.  His 
almsdeeds  knew  no  limit.  In  the  thirty-three  years 
of  his  prelacy — twenty  in  Granada  and  thirteen  in 
Seville — his  income  amounted  to  a  total  of  two  and 
a  half  millions  of  ducats,  of  which,  observes  the  same 
historian,  he  did  not  keep  one  single  real.  He  also 
inherited  a  large  amount  of  money  through  the 
death  of  his  two  brothers ;  but  all  of  this  vast 
fortune  went  in  charity  and  unselfish  works.  Even 
his  shirts  and  robes  were  mended,  so  that  he  might 
have  more  to  give  away.  One  day  his  servant  ven- 
tured to  order  him  a  new  cassock.  When  it  was 
brought,  "  how's  this  ?  "  exclaimed  the  archbishop, 
refusing  to  put  it  on  ;  "  why  hast  thou  brought  me 
this  without  my  asking  for  it  ?  Take  it  away  and 
give  it  to  the  poor.  Those  that  I  have  are  good 
enough  for  me.""* 

It  is  impossible,  therefore,  to  lay  upon  this 
generous-hearted  man  the  blame  of  the  disgraceful 
swindles  of  the  Sacred  Mountain.  He  was,  in  fact, 
a  victim  of  his  own  too  trusting  nature,  as  well  as  of 
the  cruel  roguery  of  others. 

This  brings  us  back  to  the  "  discoveries."  Isidro 
Garcia,  one  of  the  two  Jesuits  who  had  declared  the 
*  Pedraza,  Historta  de  Granada,  p.  266. 

26 


cbc  Sacl■<:^  .OOountaux 

meaning  of  the  marvellous  strip  of  lead,  visited  the 
cave  and  exclaimed  sententiouslv,  "  Here  we  shall  find 
a  mine  of  saints."  His  prophecy  proved  absolutely 
true.  On  ]VIarch  20th,  a  portion  of  the  earth  fell  in 
beneath  the  workmen's  feet,  and  another  cave  was 
disclosed.  Next,  on  different  dates  and  at  varying 
intervals,  appeared  the  whole  notorious  series  of  the 
leaden  plates  and  books.  The  first  plate  turned  up 
by  the  ])icks  was  three  and  twenty  inches  long  by  five 
in  breadth,  l)eing  doubled  four  times  over  so  as  to 
conceal  the  writing.  The  legend,  in  faulty  Latin,  as 
upon  the  strip  discovered  previouslv,  averred  that  in 
the  second  year  of  Nero's  empire,  and  on  March  1st, 
Saint  Hiscius,  together  with  his  pupils,  Turilus, 
Panuncius,  Maronius,  and  Centulius,  had  earned  the 
palm  of  martyrdom  upon  this  holy  site,  being  put  to 
death  bv  burning.  The  inscription,  too  long  and  too 
ridiculous  to  quote  in  full,  concludes  :  "  ni  lap'nles  in 
calcem  conversifiiernnt  quonun  pulvcn's  in  huiu.smcri 
montis  cavernis  iacent  (jni,  ut  ratio  po.Htnlat*  in  eonaii 
ino/ioriam  vcneretury 

The  next  plate  recorded  the  similar  martyrdom, 
also  upon  the  Sacro-Monte,  of  Saint  Ctesiphon,  called, 
before  Saint  James  converted  him,  Aben-Athar,  and 
in  the  same  inscription  declared  Ctesiphon  to  be  the 
author  of  a  book  called  The  Foundation  of  the 
Church,  which  book,  it  said,  was  also  in  these  caves, 
together  with  the  ashes  of  the  saint  and  martyr.  At 
this  the  citv  grew  wild  with  expectation,  and  public 
prayers  were  offered  for  the  discovery  of  the  j)recious 

t  Of  course,  among  a  sane  society,  these  three  words,  "  ut 
ratio  postuhit ,''  would  have  sufficed  to  damn  the  whole  collection. 

27 


volume;  though  everybody,  inchiding  the  archbishop, 
believed  that  the  work  would  resemble  an  ordinary 
bound  volume  of  the  sixteenth  century.  However, 
when  finally  exhumed,  it  proved  to  consist  of  five  thin, 
circular,  leaden  sheets,  about  the  size  of  the  Host, 
with  a  cordlike  strip  of  lead  thrust  through  to  keep 
them  joined,  the  whole  being  enclosed  in  a  leaden 
case  inscribed,  "  Liber  fiindamenti  eelesiw  Salomoiis 
charaeteribus  serijjtit.s.'"  Immense  rejoicings  followed  ; 
liberal  pourboires  to  the  diggers  ;  *  and  discharge  of 

*  The  sum  awarded  to  the  treasure-seekers  for  stumbling  first 
upon  the  forgeries  is  not  stated.  We  know  that  there  was  a  law- 
suit between  Sebastian  Lopez  on  the  one  hand,  and  Juan  de 
Leja,  Juan  Martinez  de  Paredes,  and  Pedro  Hernandez  on  the 
other.  The  judgment  was  in  favour  of  the  three  companion- 
litigants,  Sebastian  being  condemned  to  keep  perpetual  silence  as 
to  the  quantityof  the  reward.     Pedraza,  Hist,  de  Granada,  p.  270. 

The  archbishop,  wealthy,  charitable,  and  zealous  to  excess 
about  the  welfare  of  the  "  relics,"  gave  every  reason  to 
the  treasure-hunters  to  put  their  best  foot  foremost.  Pedro 
Jimenez,  who  extracted  a  leaden  book  on  April  22nd,  1595,  was 
rewarded  from  the  prelate's  purse  with  a  hundred  ducats,  and 
his  fellow  workmen  with  fifty  bushels  of  corn,  because  the  book 
contained  "  the  most  essential  portions  of  our  holy  Catholic 
faith."  A  month  before  this  Castro  had  presented  a  woman 
named  Catalina  de  la  Cueva  with  thirty  thousand  maravedis 
for  bringing  him  a  triangular  cover  enclosing  three  circular 
leaden  plates  inscribed  with  Arabic  characters. — Echeverria, 
Paseos  pov  Granada,  pp.  295-297.     (Note  to  the  edition  of  1814.) 

As  time  advanced  the  archbishop  seems  to  have  grown  less 
open-handed.  Late  in  1606  a  "book,"  containing  fifty-one 
leaves,  written  by  Saint  Cecil  and  annotated  by  Saint  James,  was 
found  in  possession  of  a  dying  man  who  had  unearthed  it  eight 
years  earlier  on  the  Sacro-Monte,  but  had  preferred  to  lay  the 
secret  by,  expecting  prices  to  improve.  How  strong  was  avarice 
in  this  instance  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  man  upon  his 
deathbed  sent  the  book  to  the  king,  in  order  that  "if  he  re- 
gained his  health  he  might  be  given  something." — /did.  pp.  326, 
327  {Noie). 

28 


XT  lj  c  S  n  c  r  c  J  /Di  o  u  ti  t  a  i  m 

cannon  from  the  ramparts  of  the  Alljambra.  Pre- 
sently another  "  book  ""  was  found,  as  well  as  a  plate 
declaring-  that  on  February  1st,  in  the  second  year  of 
Nero's  reign,  Saint  Cecil,  disciple  of  Saint  James,  had 
also  suffered  martyrdom  upon  that  holy  sjiot. 

Herewith,  Saint  Cecil  being  the  legendarv  proto- 
l)ishop  of  Granada,  the  populace  went  wholly  off  their 
heads.  Night  and  day  the  road  to  the  Sacred  Moun- 
tain was  like  an  ant-heap  for  the  multitudes  who 
plodded  up  and  down,  counting  their  beads  in  pious 
silence;  myriads  of  the  townsfolk,  the  stern  authori- 
ties of  the  Holy  Office,  the  President  of  Chancery, 
and  dames  and  cavaliers  of  high  degree.  Six  hun- 
dred and  eighty  crosses,  forwarded  from  every  part 
of  Spain,  were  jilanted  along  the  wayside,*  "  looking 
like  an  invention  of  Almighty  God."""!"  Those  of 
the  rich  and  noble  were  "  corpulent  and  well- 
wrought,"  while  even  the  poor  contributed  their 
humbler  ones  of  wood ;  until,  within  not  many 
months,  "there  was  not  a  handbreadth  of  soil  the 
mountain  over  but  was  covered  with  a  cross."  * 

At  length  were  found  the  plate  referring  to 
Saint  Ctesiphon,  and  the  oven    (similar  enough    to 

*  Three  are  still  standing  on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  and  were 
dedicated,  two  by  the  silkmen  and  market  vendors,  and  the 
other  by  the  stonecutters  and  the  soldiery  of  the  Alhambra. — 
Gomez  Moreno,  GuUi  dc  Granada,  p.  471. 

t  Lopez  Madera,  Discursos  de  la  Certidumhn'  dc  las  Reliquiae 
descuhiertas  en  Granada,  p.  27.  Granada,  1601.  This  was  one  of 
a  shoal  of  tomes  produced  with  the  object  of  demonstrating  the 
genuineness  of  the  "  relics,"  and  crammed  with  undigeslible  and 
undigested  scholarship.  Indeed,  these  books  are  quite  as  leaden 
in  their  way  as  those  of  the  Sacro-Monte.  The  title-page  bears 
imaginary  portraits  of  Don  Cecilius,  Don  Hiscius,  and  so  forth. 

;|:  Echeverria,  Paseos  por  Granada,  vol.  i.  p.  219. 

i>9 


©ranaiia 

an  everyday  cooking  stove)  which  had  served  for 
burning  San  CeciHo.  The  Latin  of  the  plates  was 
remarked  to  be  not  only  modern,  but  bad  Latin 
at  that,  "  with  a  good  many  solecisms."'"'  No  matter. 
"  Was  it  necessary,"'"'  demands  Echeverria  with  scorn, 
"that  the  plates  should  have  been  inscribed  by  a 
Christian  person  thoroughly  versed  in  the  Latin 
language  ? ""  As  for  the  ashes  of  the  martyrs, 
hardened  by  now  into  a  chalky  mass  (excepting 
the  body  of  Saint  ^Vlesiton,  which  was  only  half 
consumed),  they  were  submitted  to  the  soap-makers 
and  silversmiths,  and  stated  to  be  human  remains, 
mixed  up  Avith  earth. 

From  now  until  the  winter  of  ]59T,  a  mighty 
quantity  of  bones,  and  leaden  books,  and  plates  was 
dragged  to  light ;  sometimes  by  the  navvies,  some- 
times by  amateur  rehc-hunters,  sometimes  even  by 
children  at  their  play.  Several  of  the  plates  and  book- 
covers  were  found  to  contain,  besides  inscriptions  in 
bad  Arabic  or  worse  Latin,  fanciful  designs,  chiefly 
of  interlacing  triangles,  professing  to  be  "  the  seal  of 
Solomon.'"'  Hence  the  star  of  Solomon  engraved  upon 
the  columns  of  the  courtyard  of  the  Sacro-Monte. 

From  long  before  this  date  the  Sacred  ^fountain 
had  borne  a  name  for  prodigies  and  portents.  Its 
grass  and  thyme  were  said  to  fatten  flocks  above  all 
other  jiasture.  The  ancients  spoke  of  its  surround- 
ings as  the  Ravine  of  Glory^  from  mystic  flres  or 
lights  which  hung  about  it  after  dark ;  and  from  its 
foot  issued  the  Stream  of  Healthy  which  banished  all 
diseases.*  These  marvels  now  revived  and  multi- 
*  Pedraza,  Hist,  de  Granada,  p.  270. 

30 


"Che  Sacl•c^  /mountain 

plied  apace.  The  bcata  Ana  de  Jesus  dejiosed  to 
having  felt  "a  suave  and  fragrant  tide,"'  wafted 
from  the  caves  towards  lier  house  top,  while  >lie 
knelt  there  praying  ;  and  "  all,"  says  Ramos  Lopez, 
writing  in  1883,  "  who  know  this  venerable  mother's 
reputation,  will  recognise  the  value  of  her  testi- 
mony."" Even  the  archbishop  remembered  to  have 
seen  "  processions  of  lights  and  balls  of  fire  sus- 
pended above  the  Holy  Mountain."''  The  bones 
and  books  wrought  numberless  cures,  the  mere 
examination  of  which  kept  Castro  busv  for  thiee 
years.  Nor  had  the  relics  of  the  Torre  Turpiana 
grown  inactive.  The  scrap  of  kerchief,  or,  as 
Pedraza  calls  it,  the  toca  (head-dress)  of  the  \'irgin, 
applied  to  the  leg  of  a  divine  obliterated  three 
unsavoury  sores  rebellious  to  all  ])revious  treatment. 
Stranger  still,  a  cloth  which  had  merely  been  in 
contact  with  the  iuca  relieved  the  .Alartjuis  of 
Mondejar,  governor  of  the  Alhambra,  of  a  painful 
Huxion,  and  cured  a  case  of  cataract.  One  day, 
when  Philip  the  Second  had  fallen  sick,  he  called  for 
the  original  rag,  and  wrapping  it  about  his  person 
recovered  upon  the  spot ;  so  prior  to  sending  back 
the  relic  to  Granada,  he  snipped  a  fragment  off  one 
corner  and  placed  it  in  a  costly  reliquary  in  the 
Escorial,  where  it  was  still  adored  in  EcheverriVs 
time,  and  jjrobably  is  so  at  this  hour,  "  But," 
remarks  Pedraza,  with  unconscious  irony,  '"strangest 
of  all  is  this  ;  that  the  ashes  of  the  martyrs  should 
have  been  preserved  for  sixteen  hundred  years  en- 
closed in  earth  without  becoming  one  with  it, 
against  the  rules  of  all  philosophy." 

31 


(5rana^a 


Now  let  me  state  the  titles  of  the  leaden  books, 
whose  total  reached  nineteen  : 

(1)  Concerning  the  Foundations  of  the  Faith,  bv 
Ctesiphon  Ebnathar,  disciple  of  Saint  James  the 
Apostle. 

(2)  Concerning  the  Venerable  Essence,  by  the  same 
author. 

(3)  The  Mass  Ritual  of  Saint  Javws  the  Apostle, 
by  his  disciple  Ctesiphon.  The  directions  for  the 
service  provide  that  after  the  appointed  prayer  the 
minister  is  to  wash  his  hands  and  face. 

(4)  The  Oration  and  Apology  of  Saint  James  the 
Apostle,  son  of  Xaniech  Zebedee,  against  all  manner 
of  adversity,  zcherexcith  he  made  his  prayer  to  God, 
and  ichich  zcas  taught  him  by  his  master,  Jesus,  the 
Son  of  Mary. 

(5)  The  Book  of  the  Preaching  of  the  Apostle  Saint 
James,  icritten  at  his  command  by  his  disciple  and 
amanuensis  Ctesiphon  Ebnathar,  an  Arab;  for 
general  use  and  preaching  to  the  people  of  the  land 
of  Spain. 

(6)  The  Weeping  of  Peter  the  Apostle  a>id  Vicar, 
after  his  denial  of  Our  Lord  Jesus.  This  weeping 
lasted  seven  vears,  after  which  time  Peter  heard  a 
voice  proclaiming  his  pardon. 

(7)  The  Book  of  Glorious  Deeds  of  Our  Lord  Jesus 
and  of  Mary  the  Virgin,  his  Mother,  by  Ctesiphon 
Ebnathar,  Disciple  of  the  Apostle  Saint  James.  This 
work  (to  give  it  too  flattering  a  name)  is  just  a  con- 
glomeration of  media?val  tales  and  excerpts  from  the 
Koran  and  the  gospels.  Godoy  Alcantara  (on  whose 
relation  of  the  forgeries  and  their  discovery  1  partly 

32 


Zhc  Sac  re  ^  /fountain 

base  my  own)  observes  that  tlie  fifth  chajjter, 
describiiifi;  "  the  beauty  and  person  of  Jesus  and  his 
Mother  Mary,"  is  eminently  oriental.  Jesus,  it  tells 
us,  was  the  handsomest  of  men,  and  Mary  the  love- 
liest of  women ;  the  colour  of  their  hair  being  that 
of  the  ripe  date. 

(8)  The  Guerdon  of  Believers  in  theeertd'ndij  of  the 
Gospel.,  eontaining'  eip;ht  questions  asKrdof  Holij  M(irif 
bij  Saint  James  the  Apostle,  standard-hearer  of  the 
Faith:  xcritten,  at  his  eonunand,  bij  his  disciple  ttnd 
amanuensis,  Ctesiphoti  Ebnathar,  the  Arab. 

(9)  Co)uernino'  the  g-reat  Mijsteries  xcit)ie-ssed  btj 
Saint  James  the  Apostle  on  the  Saered  Montdain  : 
written,  (d  his  eomnunul,  hp  Cecil  his  disciple. 

(10)  The  Book  of  the  Enignuis  and  Mpsteries  seen 
by  the  Virgin  Holy  Mary,  throns^-h  the  grace  (fGod, 
on  the  night  of  her  spiritual  conversation,  as  she  de- 
clared them  to  Saint  James  the  A/)0stle ;  icritten,  at 
his  command,  by  his  amanuettsis  atul  disciple,  Cecil 
Ebnelradi. 

(11)  The  Book  of  Sentotees  co)urr)iing  the  Faith, 
manifested  by  Holy  Mary,  the  stainless  Virgin,  to 
Saint  James  the  Apostle,  translated  into  Arabic,  at 
Holy  Marys  comnunul,  by  Cecil  Ebnelradi".  These 
sentences  are  stated  to  have  been  written  by  the 
Virgin  in  person  upon  a  piece  of  parchment ;  l)ut 
she  bade  Cecil,  "  tidic  them  and  translate  thou  into 
Arabic,  and  place  them  upon  lead  in  order  tlud  they 
may  guide  the  servants  of  the  Lord  in  the  last  fit/n-.s.'" 

(12)  7'he  History  of  the  Seal  of  Solomon,  the  -s m 
of  David,  prophet  of  the  Lord,  according  to  Holy 
Mary,  by  Cecil  Ebnelradi. 

33 


^Sl•ana^a 

(IJJ)  Of  the  cornprehensihility  of  the  Divine  jmxver, 
clemency^  and  justice  toicards  creation.,  hij  Cecil 
Ebnelradi,  disciple  of  Saint  James  the  Apostle., 
defender  of  the  Evangelic  laxo. 

(14)  The  second  part  of  the  preceding  work. 

(15)  Of  the  nature  of  the  Angel,  and  of  his  poxver  ; 
hy  Cecil  Ebnebridf,  disciple  of  the  Apostle  Sairit 
James. 

(16)  The  delation  of  the  House  of  Peace,  and  of 
the  House  of  Veng-eance,  and  of  Torments ;  by  Cecil 
FJ)nelradi. 

(17)  Of  the  illustrious  deeds  of  the  Apostle  Saint 
James  and  of  his  miracles;  hy  Cecil  Ebnelradi,  his 
disciple  and  amannensis.  Contains  a  ^^ physical  and 
moral  portrait  of  the  Apostle.'" 

(18)  The  second  part  of  the  preceding. 

(19)  History  of  the  Certainty  of  the  Holy  Gospel. 
Here  is  one  of  those  prognostics  which  used  to  be 
extremely  popular  with  the  Moriscos.  In  order  to 
grasp  its  whole  significance,  says  Godoy  Alcantara, 
we  must  think  of  it  as  pointing  to  one  of  the  leaden 
books  inscribed  with  unintelligible  characters,  and 
therefore  called  the  "illegible"'"'  or  "dumb"  book. 
This  latter  professed  to  be  a  gospel  presented  by  the 
Virgin  to  Saint  James,  and  the  circumstances  of  its 
preparation  were  as  follows.  "  One  day,  when  the 
apostles  were  gathered  together  in  Mary"'s  house, 
after  the  coming  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  she  told  them 
that  by  God"'s  command,  conveyed  to  her  by  Gabriel 
the  archangel,  she  purposed  to  reveal  to  them  the 
certainty  of  the  glorious  gospel  sent  down  to  her  by 
the    Almighty,  after    her   conversation    with    Him. 

34 


C  b  c   S  a  c  r  c  ^  /B>  o  u  n  t  a  i  n 

Thereupon  she  exhibited  the  gospel  in  question, 
written  bv  a  powerful  hand  with  radiant  Hght  on 
circular  tables  of  precious  stones,  whose  value  God 
alone  has  knowledge  of;  and  also  a  copy  made  by 
herself  on  leaden  plates,  sealed  with  the  seal  of 
Solomon.  Peter  said  to  her,  '  What  dost  thou  bid  us 
do  with  this  Certainty  ? '  She  replied,  '  It  hath  been 
ordered  nie  that  thou  do  with  it  as  was  done  with 
the  tables  of  Moses  ;  James  will  bear  this  copy  to  an 
uttermost  quarter  of  the  earth,  and  there  he  will 
conceal  it  in  a  holy  spot  where  God  shall  guard  it 
till  the  appointed  time.""  Peter  inquired  how  God 
would  make  this  revelation.  Mary  replied  that  the 
gospel  would  remain  under  Gabriel's  protection 
until  the  heresies  and  offences  of  the  world  should 
need  the  application  of  the  remedy  ;  that  those 
offences  and  heresies  would  be  disclosed  by  the  hand 
of  a  holv  priest  (the  Archbishop  Vaca  de  Castro) :  and 
that  God  would  thereupon  avenge  His  law  by  means 
of  the  fairest  people  among  His  creatures.  Then 
said  Peter,  '  What  people  be  they  r '  '  Arabs  and 
their  language,"  replied  the  Virgin  ;  '  I  tell  thee  that 
these  Arabs  shall  be  among  the  fairest  of  all  people, 
and  their  language  of  the  most  melodious.  They 
shall  be  chosen  by  God  to  save  His  law  in  the  last 
times,  after  having  been  its  bitterest  enemies;  and 
God  shall  endow  them  with  might  and  wisdom  to 
this  end.  "Pis  not  the  sons  of  Israel,  but  the  Arabs 
and  their  tongue  that  shall  assist  the  Almighty  and 
His  law,  together  with  His  holy  gospel  and  His  holy 
church  upon  the  latest  day."  Peter  exclaimed,  '  Our 
Ladv,  tell   us  how  shall  that  befall,  that  our  hearts 

35 


tBranaSa 

may  be  ([uieted."  She  replied,  '  Know  ye  that  in  the 
extreme  west  is  a  region  called  Spain,  in  the  utter- 
most part  whereof  God  shall  preserve  the  copy  of 
this  Certajntf/,  and  when  the  appointed  time  draws 
nigh  shall  make  it  manifest,  as  also  the  books  that 
are  together  with  it ;  and  its  defender  shall  be  the 
servant  of  the  hidden  servants  of  the  Lord ;  nor  shall 
there  be  any  other  person  in  the  world  so  potent  to 
this  purpose/  Then  Peter  said,  '  O  Lady,  who  shall 
be  this  defender  of  the  glorious  gospel  ? '  She 
replied,  '  When  the  time  approaches,  God  shall  raise 
up  a  king  among  the  kings  of  the  east,  together  with 
people  hungering  after  victory,  and  shall  award  to 
him  a  vast  and  mighty  empire ;  and  terror  shall 
invade  all  hearts,  even  to  lands  in  the  remotest  west ; 
and  he,  though  not  an  Arab,  shall  yet  be  king  of 
all  the  Arabs.  God  shall  cause  all  men  to  readily 
obey  him,  and  reconcile  all  mortals  ;  and  doctors, 
expounders,  and  interpreters  shall  meet  in  council ; 
and  this  shall  be  the  first  council  in  which  the  Arabs 
shall  be  gathered  together,  and  the  last  council  of 
the  world.  They  shall  assemble  there  by  reason  of 
the  book  in  their  own  Arabic  tongue,  which  then 
shall  be  the  common  one.  AVhen  they  are  met 
together  they  shall  dispute  greatly,  and  their  intelli- 
gence shall  be  confounded,  till  God  raise  up  a  lowlv 
creature  in  that  place,  who  shall  explain  the 
Certaintij  of  the  gospel  in  the  light  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.  When  all  are  satisfied,  their  law  shall 
become  a  single  law,  and  error  and  impiety  shall  be 
banished  from  the  world.  And  yet  these  days  of 
<juiet  shall   be  few,  for  after  they  are  past  corrup- 

36 


Zbc  SacicJ  /lOoiiutnin 

tion  jsliall  return,  and  only  the  Antichrist  shall  be 
awaited.  The  council  shall  be  held  in  the  island  of 
Cyprus,  which  the  king  of  the  kings  of  the  Arabs 
shall  wrest  from  the  Venetians  at  the  coming  of 
those  latest  times.'  With  this  the  \'irgin  took  tiie 
tablets,  and  the  apostles  bore  her  company,  and  all 
together  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  went  out  unto 
the  Mount  of  Olives.  There  they  praved  to  God  ; 
whereat  the  mountain  burst  asunder  with  a  mighty 
Hash  of  heavenly  Hame,  received  the  tablets  into  its 
entrails,  and  closed  once  more.  When  thev  had  all 
returned  to  Mary's  house,  she  said  to  Saint  James, 
'  Go  with  this  copy  of  the  tablets  of  the  Cei'tnintyy 
and  with  this  book,  unto  the  seashore.  God  shall  pro- 
vide thee  with  a  little  boat,  whose  pilot  shall  be  the 
angel  Gabriel.  ^^' hen  ye  arrive  in  Spain,  make  entry  by 
the  eastern  side,  and  hide  both  book  and  tablets  where 
a  dead  man  comes  to  life.  Thereafter  preach  to  the 
inhabitants,  and  slacken  not  until  a  servant  of  the 
servants  of  the  Lord  believes  thee,  thus  making  good 
thy  patience  in  thy  preaching,  since  it  is  known  that 
God  loveth  the  patient.  That  mortal  only  shall 
believe  thee  ;  but  thy  disciples  shall  win  that  nation 
to  the  faith,  and  divers  shall  suffer  martyrdom  upon 
that  holy  spot.' '' 

These  instructions  were  strictly  carried  out.  The 
apostle  found  the  little  boat,  and  guided  by  the 
archangel  reached  the  shores  of  Spain.  As  soon  as 
he  had  landed  and  laid  the  book  and  tablets  down, 
the  earth  began  to  gape,  and  from  it  came  a  man 
who  said,  "  AVhy  hast  thou  raised  me  from  my  tomb, 
wherein  I  rested  since  the  time  of  Moses  ?     INIy  soul 

37 


(5l•ana^a 

is  with  the  blessed."  Saint  James  replied,  "  It  was 
not  I  who  raised  thee,  but  the  power  of  God,  and 
the  copy  of  the  Certainty  of  the  Glorious  Gospel. 
What  is  thy  name  ?  "  The  man  replied,  "  Alachius,"" 
and  asked  in  turn,  "  and  thine  ? "  "  James,  the 
apostle  of  the  apostles  of  Jesus,  son  of  Mary,  Spirit 
of  the  Lord.""  Then  the  other  said,  "  Salvation  be 
with  thee  ;  my  soul  is  happy  with  Him  :  glad  am  I 
of  thy  coming,  and  crave  that  thou  restore  me  to 
my  couch.""  This  Santiago  did,  and  remained  with 
his  disciples  in  that  spot  for  forty  days,  writing  this 
history  and  concealing  it  in  the  caves,  together  with 
the  copy  of  the  Certainty^  and  the  book  ;  and  on  his 
departure  enjoined  his  disciples  to  visit  the  place 
after  his  death,  and  hold  it  duly  sacred. 


38 


A  Gipsy  Lodging  on  the  Way  to  the  Sacro-Monte 


III 

The  Sacred  Mountain— ro«^/«"f'^ 

,HE  discoveries  of  the  Sacvo-Moiite 
transpired  with  winged  (luickne.ss 
^]  throughout  the  Catholic  world.  Castio 
himself  conveyed  the  tidings  to  the 
.__^i2^^  King  of  Spain  and  to  the  ro})e. 
Philip,  than  whonwx  better  subject  for  >uch  jugglei y 
could  hardlvhave  been  hoped  for,  replied  ui  Hattering 
terms,  and  offered  to  defray  the  cost  of  the  transla- 
tion The  papal  answer  was  more  circumspect,  ior 
while  the  pontift-also  applauded  the  zeal  and  forttme 
of  the  prelate,  he  reserved  to  Rome  the  vdtnnate 
decision  upon  the  doctrine  embodied  in  the  leaden 
books.  Decidedlv  this  reservation  was  a  prudent 
one      The  archbishop  himself   had  set   to   work   to 

59 


^3l•ana^a 


study  Arabic  (thoiioh  first  of  all,  perhajis,  he  might 
have  studied  common  sense)  ;  while  a  local  council 
of  eighteen  eminent  theologians,  assembling  at  his 
palace,  had  voted  with  one  accord  that  the  books 
were  stored  with  "holy.  Catholic,  and  apostolic 
doctrine;  lofty,  positive,  and  scholastic  theology; 
gravity  and  compression;  Christian  piety;  a  majestic 
style  ;  and  natural  and  revealed  teaching  exceeding 
the  power  and  light  of  human  understanding,  that 
seem  to  be  dictated  by  the  Holy  Ghost." 

Yet  on  the  other  hand  the  archbishop  was  author- 
ized by  a  papal  brief,  dated  by  Clement  the  Eighth 
from  Ferrara,  July  1st,  1598,  to  finally  decide  upon 
the  authenticity  of  the  ashes,  plates,  and  such  like 
rubbish  forming  part  of  the  collection.  With  this 
intent  the  prelate  called  together  a  special  synod  of 
five-and-forty  members  (nearly  all  of  whom  were  of 
the  clergv)  to  sit  in  judgment  on  the  nature  and  the 
value  of  the  precious  stuff'.  The  proceedings  were 
conducted  in  his  own  palace  ;  and  at  their  termina- 
tion, after  only  half  a  dozen  sittings,  a  verdict  was 
})ronounced  unanimously  favourable  to  the  "  relics," 
then  deposited  upon  a  bureau  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  while  all  the  company  went  down  upon  their 
knees  to  do  them  reverence.  This  verdict  was  pub- 
licly proclaimed  in  the  cathedral,  after  the  misa 
nia^or  on  April  30th,  1600 ;  and  once  again  the  in- 
fatuated people  of  Granada  rushed  out  of  their  heads 
with  rapture  and  rejoicing. 

In  the  meantime  two  translators  were  appointed 
to  declare  the  meaning  of  the  leaden  books.  These 
men  were  both  of  Moorish  stock,  educated,  possessing 

40 


"Cbc  Sacl•e^  /n^ountahi 

the  degree  •  of  licentiates,  and  both  of  them  inter- 
preters, by  royal  warrant,  to  the  Crown.  Their 
names,  of  which  I  beg  my  readers  to  take  especial 
notice,  were  Miguel  de  Luna  and  Alonso  del  Castillo. 

Once  translated  and  made  public,  however,  the 
substance  of  the  leaden  books  was  not  received  with 
unadulterated  confidence.  Indeed,  from  the  gross- 
ness  of  the  blunders,  blasphemies,  and  contradictions 
they  contained,  such  universal  credence  would  have 
been  impossible,  even  in  that  century  and  in  Spain. 
One  or  two  persons  began  to  murmur  that  they 
smelt  a  hoax.  They  pointed  out  that  the  ground- 
work of  several  of  the  books  was  patently  Moham- 
medan ;  and  quoted  infidel  expressions  such  as  this, 
cleanly  transplanted  from  the  Koran  ;  "  If  one  of 
the  maidens  of  Paradise  were  to  spit  a  single  time 
into  the  sea,  the  sweetness  of  her  saliva  would  suffice 
to  sweeten  all  the  waters  of  the  vast  abyss."  Never- 
theless, the  books  were  well  defended ;  notably  by 
the  parti-ans  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  and  of 
Santiago's  personal  mission  among  the  Spaniards. 
Their  chief  opponents  were  the  powerful  Order  of 
Santo  Domingo,  supported,  as  time  went  on,  by  a 
small  though  troublesome  number  of  individuals. 

Pending  the  final  judgment  of  the  holy  see,  the 
Pope  had  forbidden  all  discussion  on  the  matter. 
But  the  few  though  indefatigable  private  censors 
wei'e  not  to  be  kept  silent.  One  of  them,  by  name 
Gurmendi,  took  lessons  in  Arabic  with  a  Turk,  and 
aided  by  a  Jesuit  priest  prepared  an  independent 
version  of  his  own,  accompanied  bv  a  quantitv  of 
opportune    and  adverse    criticism.      Copies    of  this 

41 


(5vana&a 

attack  were  forwarded  to  the  Royal  Council,  the 
Supreme  Council,  the  Inquisition,  and  even  to  the 
Pope.  In  November  of  1607  Pedro  de  Valencia,  a 
pupil  of  the  learned  Arias  Montano,  presented  an 
Informe  to  the  cardinal -archbishop  of  Toledo,  in 
which  he  said,  "  For  the  love  of  God  I  beseech  your 
reverence  that  as  the  primate  of  Spain,  pious,  learned, 
and  generous,  vou  arm  yourself  with  holy  valour  and 
intention,  and  hinder  this  from  going  forward.  The 
jest  is  now  become  too  heavy  to  be  borne.  Well  I  know 
that  the  Church  at  large,  including  its  High  Pontiff, 
runs  no  risk  of  being  deceived.  The  peril  is  for  the 
good  report  of  Spain,  since,  when  these  books  are 
seen  at  Home  they  must  perforce  appear  to  be  what 
they  are,  and  people  will  wonder  greatly  at  their 
having  caused  us  such  emotion." 

The  cause  of  the  defenders  of  the  forgeries  grew 
more  and  more  discouraging.  Archbishop  Castro 
was  translated  to  Seville,  and  died  in  1623.  The 
Marquis  of  Estepa  wrote  a  ridiculous  defence  of  the 
books,  which  did  a  great  deal  more  to  damn  them 
than  even  the  acrid  comments  of  Gurmendi  ;  and  had 
the  mortification  of  seeing  his  darling  labour  con- 
fiscated by  the  Holy  Office.  The  papal  nuncio 
began  to  thunder  at  the  door  of  the  palace,  demand- 
ing that  the  books  should  be  despatched  to  Rome. 
At  length  the  kino-  commanded  their  removal  to 
Madrid  ;  but  the  canons  of  Granada  who  had  charge 
of  them  refused  compliance,  and  the  padlock  of  the 
chest  which  stored  away  the  unhicky  fictions  had  to 
be  filed  through  upon  the  warrant  of  a  justice.  Once 
in  Madrid  they  were  exposed  to  the  quips  and  epi- 
'  42 


"Cbc  Sacl•c^  /n^ountain 

grams  of  Qaevedo,  and  other  irreverent  and  free- 
thinking  humorists,  until,  in  1641,  a  strong! v  worded 
papal  brief  enjoined  their  prompt  translation  to  the 
holy  city ;  and  thither  they  were  borne,  attended 
by  two  faithful  fathers  of  the  Sacro-Monte.* 

This  "  battle  of  the  books "  dragged  on  for 
forty-one  years  more  ;  by  which  time  nearly  all  the 
combatants  had  died  a  natural  death.  The  books 
would  probably  have  done  the  same ;  for  at  this  date 
the  general  curiosity  seemed  quite  extinguished. 
Even  the  Spanish  Ambassador  at  Rome  was  heard  to 
remark  with  a  contemptuous  shrug  that  they  were 
good  enough  for  making  bullets  of.  However,  the 
indiscretions  of  a  Spanish  priest  and  ''plumbist'' 
nominated  to  the  Italian  see  of  Trini,  precipitated  the 
solemn  and  irrevocable  papal  sentence,  pronounced  on 

*  Bertaut  de  Rouen  did  not  omit  to  visit  the  holy  mountain 
of  Granada ;  but  speaks  contemptuously  of  the  relics  and  the 
caves,  or,  as  he  bluntly  calls  them,  "  toutc  cette  histoire  de  faussete."' 
This  was  in  1659.  "  Nous  prisnies  des  chevaux  pour  aller  plus  com- 
modement  voir  les  cavernes  de  la  Montague  qtiHls  appdlent  sacree,  qui 
est  dans  ce  Valon  agreable  die  Darro  que  fay  descrit,  Sr*  qu'ils  disent 
esire  si  saint  par  la  vertu  des  Reliqites  de  Saint  Ctesyphon  <Sr 
d'auttes  Martyrs  qui  y  ont  este  trouvez,  a  ce  que  tons  les  Espagnols 
croyent  5f  soustiennent."  He  then  relates,  in  a  similar  tone  of 
scepticism,  the  finding  of  the  plates,  and  books,  and  bones,  and 
adds:  "On  trouva  encores  beaucoup  d'autres  Lames  de  plomb,  qui 
portoient  que  Saint  Cecile  Disciple  de  Saint  Jacques  avoit  souffert  le 
martyre  en  ce  lieu :  mais  la  pluspart  du  monde  croit  qu'il  y  a  eu  de  la 
fraude,  &°  que  cela  n'a  servy  que  pour  ayder  d  prouver  la  venue  de 
Saint  Jacques  en  Espagne :  ce  que  tons  les  Espagnols  croyent  comme  un 
article  de  foy. ' ' 

Bertaut  was  unaware  that  the  decision  upon  the  authenticity 
of  the  "  relics,"  in  distinction  from  the  "  books,"  had  been  con- 
ceded by  a  papal  warrant  to  Granada,  for  he  adds  :  "  Aussi  on 
n'a  point  encore  approuve  a  Rome  Vinvention  de  ces  Reliques  ny  la 
veritc  de  ces  livres. ' ' 

43 


l5l•ana^a 


September  28th,  1682,  and  promulgated,  a  few  days 
later,  from  every  pulpit  throughout  Spain.  The  so- 
called  books  were  declared  to  contain  "  nothing  but 
fabrications,  devised  to  the  destruction  of  the  Catho- 
lic faith/'  They  were  furthermore  declared  to  be 
tainted  with  Mohammedan  doctrine,  and  condemned, 
in  consequence,  to  perpetual  ignominy.  On  penalty 
of  excommunication  no  preacher,  reader,  or  professor 
of  divinity  was  even  to  mention  them  or  their  con- 
tents, unless  it  were  to  confute,  reject,  and  reprobate 
the  false  teaching  and  false  re\  -lations  in  which  these 
forgeries  abounded. 

A  little  while  before,  I  begged  my  readers  to  take 
particular  notice  of  the  names  of  INIiguel  de  Luna 
and  Alonso  del  Castillo,  the  two  Moriscos  officially 
appointed  to  reduce  the  leaden  books  to  the  Castilian 
vernacular.  Castillo  had  done  some  service  to  Philip 
the  Second  by  collecting  Arabic  volumes  for  the  library 
of  the  Escorial ;  and  also  by  performhig  for  that 
sovereign  certain  correspondence  with  the  Moorish 
kings  of  Africa.  He  was  a  scholarly  man,  possessing 
both  the  erudite  and  the  popular  forms  of  Arabic, 
as  well  as  Spanish,  Greek,  and  Latin.  Luna  was 
less  equipped  with  scholarship,  but  active  and  quick- 
witted, and  with  a  genuine  sense  of  humour — using 
the  latter  word  perhaps  a  trifle  disparagingly.  We 
must  suppose  that  a  rogue  appears  to  other  rogues 
a  virtuous  fellow  ;  for  Echeverri'a  calls  Luna  "  an 
honest  ]Morisco,  reconciled  with  the  Church."  In 
view  of  this  assertion,  we  will  see  what  kind  of  man 
was  "  honest '"  Luna ;  and  after  that,  what  kind  of 
man  was  his  votary  and  disciple.  Father  Echeverria. 

44 


Zbc  SacicJ  /Iftouiitaiii 

Miguel  de  Luna  was  tlie  author  of  the  false 
chronicle  professing  to  be  a  literal  rendering  from 
the  Arabic,  known  as"  The  True  History  of  the  King 
Don  RodericTi\  xchercin  is  treated  the  principal  cause  of 
the  perdition  (f  Spain,  and  the  conquest  of  that  count r/j 
carried  out  by  Mira)na)/i(>l/n  Abnan^or,  formerly  King 
(f  Africa  a)ul  the  Arab/as.  Also  contains  the  Life  (f 
the  King  Jacob  Ahnancor.  Written  bv  the  wise 
Alcayde  Abulcacini  Tarif,  the  Arab.  Newly  trans- 
lated from  the  Arabic  by  Miguel  de  Luna,  inhabitant 
of  Granada,  and  interpreter  to  our  lord  the  King."' 
This  singular  and  mendacious  work,*  indited,  as  Luna 
tells  us  (p.  438,  note),  at  the  city  of  Bokhara  in  the 
year  one  hundred  and  forty -two  of  the  Hijra,  or 
seven  hundred  and  sixty-three  of  the  Christian 
era,  is  just  a  concoction  of  legends  prevalent  in 
Luna's  time,  adorned  with  colouring  and  garnish 
of  his  own  make,  and  numerous  fragments  of  Homan 
and  Greek  mythology.  To  cjuote  an  instance  of 
this  latter,  in  chapter  ix.  of  part  ii.  (pp.  349- 
353),  headed  "  Concerning  a  Memorable  Occurrence 
which  befell  the  Mohammedan  general  Abdelaziz,  ichilc 
he  was  hunting  in  a  Mountain^''  we  find  the  venerable 
story  of  Androcles  and  the  lion  dished  uj)  anew  ; 
save  that  Androcles  is  Abdalaziz,  and  the  lion  has 
become  a  bear. 

Such  was  "honest"  Michael,  considered  upon  this 
count  alone.    But  worse  remains  b(?hind ;  for  J^una  by 

*  The  copy  in  my  library  is  of  the  seventh  edition,  and  is 
dated  1676.  The  first  edition  appeared  in  1592.  This  alone 
would  prove  that  the  "chronicle"  was  everywhere  accepted  as 
genuine,  as  well  as  that  it  was  extremely  popular. 

45 


©ranaia 

no  means  limited  his  powers  to  forging  a  secular  his- 
tory of  Spain.  There  is  now  no  room  for  doubt  that 
he  and  Castillo  between  them — sometimes  one,  some- 
times the  other,  sometimes  the  two  collaborating — 
contrived  and  hid  away  the  forgeries  of  the  Sacred 
Mountain  of  Granada.  Truly  they  played  their 
comedy  with  exquisite  art.  A  grateful  nation  paid 
them  to  decipher  their  own  fabrications ;  so  entering 
into  the  spirit  of  the  joke,  they  drew  up  and  matured 
their  renderings  with  ostentatious  slowness,  feigning 
to  squabble  with  each  other  over  a  reading  here  and 
there,  or  professing  themselves  exhausted  by  the  diffi- 
culty of  unwonted  or  archaic  words  and  phrases.  Of 
course  the  hugest  jest  of  all  was  the  "dumb  book" — 
which  nobody  (even  its  authors)  could  faintly  under- 
stand —  professing  to  relate  the  "  Certainty  of 
the  Hohj  GospeV  handed  by  the  Virgin  to  Saint 
James,  to  bear  away  to  Spain.  This  masterpiece  of 
impudence  was  gravely  submitted  to  Athanasius 
Kircher,  one  of  the  leading  archa?ologists  of  his  day, 
who  finally  protested  that,  although  he  had  worked 
hard  at  it  foi*  more  than  two  years,  and  was  thoroughly 
versed  in  twenty-one  "  exotic  languages,*"  he  could 
make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  its  contents.  His  only 
discovery,  he  confessed,  was  that  it  was  written  in  an 
alphabet  containing  forty-two  distinct  characters. 

Seldom,  therefore,  has  a  more  incongruous  or 
ludicrous  situation  been  created.  But  what  was  the 
motive  of  the  forgers  ?  Did  they,  as  Godoy  Alcan- 
tara suggests,  expect  to  fuse,  by  a  species  of  reli- 
gious reform,  the  Catholic  and  the  Mohammedan 
creeds,  so  as  perhaps  to  rescue    the    Moriscos  from 

46 


cbc  SacvcJ  fountain 

ejection  by  their  subjugators;  or  was  their  purpose 
merely  to  enjoy  a  joke  ;  or  was  it  a  vindictive  one? 

I  incline  to  believe  that  their  principal  or  only  aim 
was  to  avenge  their  persecuted  brethren.  The  for- 
geries were  executed  not  long  before  the  final  expul- 
sion of  the  jNIoriscos,  who  hated,  very  justly,  the 
cruel  and  indolent  Spanish  swashbucklers  who  had 
settled  in  Granada,  and  were  rapidly  inducing  the 
moral  and  material  ruin  of  that  most  venerable  city. 
Luna  and  Castillo,  themselves  protected  by  "  a  thin 
varnish  of  Christianity,"  would  thus  endeavour  to 
instil  a  quantity  of  heretical  venom  into  the  faith  of 
their  oppressors,  and  so  confound  at  once  the  church 
and  commonwealth  of  Spain. 

Considered  in  this  light,  their  entertaining  if 
Satanic  effort  was  almost  totally  successful.  The 
Spaniards,  even  to  their  prelates  and  their  king,  were 
far  too  ignorant,  fanatical  and  credulous  to  save 
themselves.  Just  at  the  nick  of  time  the  Pope 
stepped  in  and  saved  them.  But  for  this,  as  Godoy 
has  summarized  in  a  sentence  of  tremendous  import — 
if  Rome  had  kept  aloof,  and  Spain  in  the  sixteenth 
century  had  been  allowed  by  Providence  to  carry  out 
her  project  of  an  independent  national  church,  thi: 
Spanish  people  would  have  embodied  into  the  spirit 

AND  THE  TEXT  OE  THE  New^  TeSTAMENT  THE  ENTIRE 
contents  OF  THE  LEADEN  FORGERIES  OF  THE  SaCRED 

Mountain. 

The  substance  of  the  forgeries  was  carefully  con- 
trived to  meet  the  national  desire.  In  them  we  find 
those  idle  tales  so  dear  to  narrow  Spanish  intellects — 
the  coming  of  Santiago,  and  the  martyrdom  of  many 

47 


<3  r  a  II  a  ^  a 

saints  whose  merest  names  are  nothing  more  than 
"rumours  of  a  doubt."  The  fable  of  Saint  James 
visit  to  the  shores  of  Spain  originated  in  a  wild  tradi- 
tion and  the  Vote  of  Santiago — this  last  a  formidable 
tax  imposed  upon  the  poorer  classes  of  the  nation. 
Echeverria,  who  on  these  matters  should  only  be 
consulted  to  excite  a  smile,  affirms  that  when 
Saint  James  was  visiting  Granada  he  was  made  a 
prisoner  by  the  heathen,  who  bound  him,  and  were 
on  the  point  of  putting  him  to  death,  when  the  \'irgin, 
Avho  yet  was  living  in  this  world,  appeared  upon  the 
scene  and  set  him  free.  AVe  are  further  told  that 
this  took  place  precisely  on  the  Sacro-]\Ionte,  in 
whose  notorious  caves  Saint  James  had  fixed  his 
habitation  by  divine  command. 

According  to  a  couple  of  ancient  and  obscure 
writers,  quoted  by  the  editor  of  the  second  edition  of 
Echeverria's  Paseos,  Saint  James  was  in  Granada 
about  36  or  37  a.d.,  this  being  the  first  of  the  Spanish 
cities  to  imbibe  his  cheerful  tidings.  Certainly  his 
visit  was  sensational ;  for  one  day,  walking  up  the 
Sacred  Mountain,  he  resuscitated  a  man  who  had 
been  dead  and  in  his  grave  six  hundred  years.  The 
wretch  restored  in  this  uncharitable  fashion  to  the 
miseries  of  life  was  christened  and  confirmed  forth- 
with, and  then  appointed  to  the  see  of  Braga,  thus 
becoming  the  first  bishop  of  that  town,  "  This 
miracle,'"  concludes  our  editor,  "  is  related  by  Fray 
IVudencio  de  Sandoval,  Bishop  of  Tuy ;  by  Don 
Rodrigo  de  Acuna,  Archbishop  of  Lisbon ;  and  by 
many  other  persons  distinguished  for  their  A'irtue, 
knowledge  and  veracity." 

48 


Zbc  SacrcJ  /fountain 

All  this  nonsense  has  a  clerical  origin,  and  is 
absolutely  valueless.  As  for  the  lesser  saints  and 
martvrs — Hiscius,  Ctesiphon,  and  the  rest  of  Cecil's 
six  companions— the  Gothic  Breviary  is  unconvinc- 
ing, while  the  Codex  of  Albelda  (883  a.d.)  is  too 
late.  Yet  notwithstanding  this,  Cecil  himself  is  made 
the  subject  (or,  more  properly,  the  victim)  of  three 
uncritical  and  fulsome  articles  by  that  most  intolerant 
of  Catholics,  Francisco  Simonet.*  This  author 
begins  by  recognising  that  all  we  know  about 
the  shadowy  seven  is  practically  nothing.  At  the 
same  time,  without  adducing  any  reason,  he  thinks 
it  "  probable  that  they  were  Spaniards,"  f  and 
pupils  of  Saint  James.  Then,  waxing  bolder,  he 
finds  that  Cecil  (whom  he  takes  for  granted  to  have 
been  the  founder  of  the  see  of  Ililjerris  or  Granada^ 
"  preached  the  faith  with  marvellous  eloquence  and 
fervour,  kindling  in  many  hearts  the  flames  of  holy 
love  which  were  inspiring  (.sic)  his  own,  lightening 
the  darkness  of  the  native  population,  and  gaining 
many  souls  to  Jesus  Christ."  A  moment  later  the 
panegyrist  declares  his  preference  for  "  the  authority 
of  the  Church  of  Granada,  widely  admitted  through- 
out the  Catholic  world,  and  based  on  vert/  probable 
conjectures''''  (the  discoveries  of  the  Sacro-Monte !), 
over  "  the  silence  of  antiquity." 

Now  the  mischief  done  to  Spain  by  the  discoveries 
upon  the  so-called  Sacred  Mountain  lies  in  the  fact 

*  Cuadros  Hisioricos  y  Descriptivos  de  Granada,  pp.  37-63. 

f  Florez  says  they  came  to  Spain  about  62  a.d.,  first  journey- 
ing to  Guadix,  and  then  dispersing  through  the  country.  But 
how  is  it  possible  to  fill  in  a  biography  where  even  the  outline 
of  the  personage  is  wanting  ? 

49  D 


0vana^a 
that  although  the  leaden  books  were  branded  as  a 
forgery,  the  remainder  of  the  "relics"  are  even  to 
this  day  accounted  genuine.  Of  course,  when  Rome 
condemned  the  books,  Spain  should  have  followed  suit 
and  hastened  to  reverse  her  own  decision  on  the  bones, 
and  ashes,  and  plates,  and  ovens  of  the  Sacro-Monte. 
Ikit  no.  The  relics,  guarded  in  Echeverrias  time  in 
two  great  boxes  half  imbedded  in  the  wall,  are  still 
adored  ;  and  still  the  wonder-working  caves  are  shown 
with  undiscriminating  zeal  to  every  class  of  visitor. 

:\Iany  of  the  saints  who  lie  piecemeal  about  the 
land,  if  every  limb  of  theirs  were  brought  together, 
would  prove  to  have  more  legs  than  any  myriapod ; 
vet  still  the  Spaniards  fly  to  their  defence.  Ramos 
Lopez,  principal  of  the  Sacro-Monte  church  some 
vears  ago,  protests  against  "the  foreign  historians 
who  endeavour  to  eclipse  our  glories,  denying  the 
visit  of  Saint  James  to  Spain,  as  well  as  his  preaching 
in  this  kingdom.''  Of  course,  the  foreign  historians 
mio-ht  obiect  that  it  is  not  for  themselves  to 
deny  Saint  James'  landing  on  the  Spanish  shores 
so  much  as  for  Ramos  Lopez  and  his  co-religionists 
to  prove  it.  But  Ramos  is  incorrigible  in  the  firm- 
ness of  his  faith.  "Although,"  he  says,  "certain 
authors  are  averse  to  making  the  confession,  it 
must  be  owned  that  the  finding  of  the  leaden  tables 
inscribed  in  Latin,  and  also  of  the  relics,  served  to 
illustrate  the  Christian  antiquities  of  our  region, 
pmikidnrhj  in  rchat  relates  to  the  preaching-  of  Saint 
James  and  his  disciples.'"  * 

So  much  for  these  enlightened  days.     Writing  in 

*  El  Sacro-Monte  de  Granada,  p.  117.     Madrid,  1883. 
50 


■Cbe   Sa^:l•c^  /IDountam 

the  middle  of  the  eighteciitli  centurv,  Echeverria 
recalled  that  one  or  two  unrighteous  persons  had 
ventured  to  cast  a  doubt  upon  the  relics.  "  Heaven," 
he  observed,  "  has  not  been  slow  to  castigate  their 
obstinacy.  The  principal  Antiplumbists  have  met 
with  a  disastrous  end."'  *  "  How  could  Luna,"  he 
asks  elsewhere,  "have  hidden  the  relics  in  these  caves 
in  sight  of  all  the  city?"  This  argument  sounds 
plausible.  Our  neatest  refutation  of  it  is  to  turn  to 
the  Letters  of  the  Sacristan  of  Finos  de  la  Pucnte.'*- 
The  author  of  these  dissertations,  written  in  the  un- 
pleasant, semi-jocose,  semi-cantankerous  and  dispu- 
tative  style  also  adopted  by  Echeverria,  is  Doctor 
Cristobal  Conde,  described  in  his  own  words  as 
"  theologian,  antiquary,  and  interpreter  in  the  ex- 
cavations of  the  Alcazaba  of  Granada."  Godov 
Alccintara  shall  tell  us  something  more  of  Conde. 
The  son  of  an  obscure  foundling,  and  educated  at 
the  college  of  the  Sacred  ^Mountain,  Conde  became 
fast  friends  with  another  ex-pupil  of  the  same  semi- 
nary, Juan  de  Echeverria,  author  of  the  Paseos  por 
Granada  so  often  quoted  in  these  chapters.  Eche- 
verria was  uncomelv  in  his  personal  appearance, 
"  after  the  manner  of  Don  Basilio  in  The  Barber 
of  Seville^''  and  in  his  character  "  a  crafty,  knavish 
cheat.""  This  pair  of  rascals,  together  with  one 
Flores  (not  to  be  confounded  with  the  learned 
writer  on  ecclesiastical  antiquities),  despite  their  holv 
orders  and  professed  respectability  and  scholarship, 

*  Paseos  por  Granada. 

+  Lerida  and  Granada,  1761,  1762,  4  vols.     Complete  copies 
are  very  rare.    Excepting  mine,  I  have  never  seen  an  unbroken  set. 

51 


(5rana^a 


agreed   to   forge  as  many   "  monuments "  as  Spain 
could     swallow,     and    then    "discover''    them     in 
the  Albaycin  of  Granada,  round  about  the   site    of 
the    ancient  Alcazaba.      Conde    accordingly    wrote 
his  Letters  to  prove  the  genuineness  of  his  own  and 
Echeverria's  fabrications.    One  of  the  arguments  he 
uses  is  the  following.    "Let  those,"  he  says,  "Avho 
visit  the  Alcazaba  observe  the  depth  of  the  caverns 
where  the  monuments  have  been  discovered,  and  the 
bulk  of  several  of  these,  requiring  ten  yoke  of  oxen 
for  their  removal,  as  well  as  their  dilapidated  look ; 
and  then  decide  if  any  fraud  were  possible."     We 
have  just  seen  Echeverria  employ  a  similar  argument 
in  defending  the  relics  of  the  Sacro-Monte.    "  How," 
we  have  seen  him  indignantly  demand,  "  could  Luna 
conceal  the  monuments  in  the  caves,  and  fill  these  in 
or  dig  these  monuments  out  in  sight  of  all  the  city, 
in  a  spot  where  so  much  operation  could  never  be  con- 
cluded without  the  notice  of  the  neighbours  .? "     Yet 
this  was  precisely  what  Conde  and  Echeverria  them- 
selves effected  in  the  Albaycin  a  century  and  a  half 
later.   Capitals,  cornices,  inscribed  slabs,  leaden  tablets 
— nothing  withstood  their  priestly  ingenuity ;    and  it 
was  only  after  a  considerable  while  that  one  of  the 
workmen   employed   by  the    syndicate  of  swindlers 
declared  or  hinted  that  he  and  his  fellows  buried 
secretly  by  night  the  very  "  monuments  "  they  openly 
extracted  on  the  following  morning.     This  breach  of 
confidence  was  unendurable ;  so  Flores,  who  was  an 
influential  member  of  the  Inquisition,  resorted  to  the 
suave  correction  of  that  high  and  holy  court,  and 
drove  the  man  demented. 

52 


"Cbc  Sacrc^  flDountain 

In  view  of  the  satisfactory  results  obtained  by 
forging  sacred  and  profane  "  relics "  of  general 
interest,*  our  trio  of  rogues,  protected  by  Luis 
Francisco  de  Viana,"]"  abbot  of  the  Sacro-Monte  and 
virtually  a  coadjutor  of  the  other  three,  decided  to 
extend  their  industry  to  the  preparation  of  docu- 
ments of  a  private  character.  Taking  the  paper 
stamped  by  government,  they  filled  it  in  with  titles 
of  nobility,  genealogies,  writs,  wills,  nnjal  decrees-, 
and  so  forth  ;  inserted  the  sheets  so  filled  among  the 
archives  of  the  law  courts,  and  then  demanded  to 
inspect  and  utilize  them.  "  The  existence  of  this 
bureau  of  ftilsiflcation  was  no  secret  in  Spain.  Every 
one  who  required  a  sham  document  took  the  road  to 
Granada.*";|;  At  the  same  time,  Conde,  who  had  no 
name  to  truly  call  his  own,  '*  discovered  "  himself 
to  be  illustriously  born,  and  making  himself  a  docu- 
ment, assumed,  upon  the  powers  which  it  granted 
him,  the  second  surname  of  Medina. 

*  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  one  of  our  countrymen  was  taken  in 
by  Conde  ;  or  so  the  forger  asseverates  in  his  Pinos  Puente 
Letters  (vol.  i.  p.  143).  "  Don  Juan  Branfurd  (the  surname 
appears  to  be  misspelt),  of  English  nationality,  colonel  com- 
manding the  13th  Regiment  of  His  Britannic  Majesty  in  the 
fortress  of  Gibraltar,  came  hither,  instructed  by  the  Royal  Society 
of  London,  in  order  to  inspect  these  discoveries.  He  examined 
them  one  by  one  with  all  deliberation,  and  liked  them  so  much 
that  he  attempted  with  wheedling  words  to  purchase  some 
literary  stones  and  leads,  offering  any  price  for  them."' 

t  "That  great  Spaniard,"  as  Echeverria  calls  him.  Eche- 
verria's  good  opinion  is  really  most  embarrassing.  To  receive 
his  praise  is  to  assume /fr  se  the  stamp  of  infamy  ;  and  we  feel 
that  when  he  calls  Mohammed  an  impostor  he  is  paying  him  a 
distinct  compliment. 

X  Godoy,  Los  Falsos  Cronicones,  p.  322. 

53 


OranaJa 

Presently  a  craze  sprang  up  for  everytliing  con- 
nected with  the  visit  of  Saint  James  to  the  Peninsula. 
(Jur  friends  were  not  behind  the  time,  and  put  upon 
the  market  a  handsome  quantity  of  bishop's  rings 
ascribed  to  the  tenth  centurv,  decorated  with  a 
horseman  bearing  a  banner  and  a  sword,  and  the 
words  Jacobus  Victor.  These  were  accompanied  by 
another  forgery,  to  wit,  "  a  letter  from  Mohamad 
Benzay,  a  Moor  who  was  trodden  nndojvot  hi/  Saint 
James'  horse  at  the  battle  of  Clavijo,  and  made  a 
prisoner :  directed  to  his  brother,  Abencholen 
Ibrahin.'" 

The  national  movement  which  provoked  these 
fictions  depended  from  the  "  Vote  of  Santiago,"" 
already  mentioned  in  this  chapter.  The  vote  itself 
consisted  of  a  tax  in  kind,  payable  to  the  Cathedral 
of  Santiago  in  Galicia,  and  weighing  with  oppressive 
heaviness  upon  the  agricultural  classes ;  but  just 
about  this  time  the  "privilege""  was  menaced  by  the 
attitude  of  certain  of  the  nobles,  determined  to  make 
an  effort  to  combat  such  imposture.  This  was  why 
Echeverria  and  his  colleagues,  acting  as  local  agents 
for  the  Chapter  of  the  great  Cantabrian  temple, 
hastened  to  afford  new  testimony  of  Saint  James' 
mythical  appearance  in  the  mythical  affray ;  and  of 
the  validness  of  the  grant  alleged  to  emanate  from 
the  Spanish  Crown. 

My  library  contains  a  copy  of  this  "  \'ote  of 
Santiago,""  telling  us  all  that  we  can  want  to  know. 
The  work,  drawn  up  before  a  notary  public  at 
Granada  in  1685,  is  printed  on  stamped  paper,  and 
bears   a    curious    title    depicting    Santiago    at  the 

54 


cbc  S.^v:rc^  /IBountain 

battle  of  Clavijo,  i^ravely  carving  at  the  clouds ;  nr, 
well  as  other  scenes  relating  to  his  residence  in  Spain. 
The  tax,  it  seems,  is  payable  to  "the  stewards  or 
servants"  of  the  church  of  Santiago,  and  is  required 
to  consii^t  of  "  heavy  measures  of  the  choicest 
wheat,  barley,  and  other  grain,"  not  omitting  "  wine 
for  the  sustenance  of  the  canons  residentiai-y  of  the 
said  church  of  Santiago.""'  Although  the  languajre 
is  archaic  in  form,  its  phraseology  is  manifestlv 
modern.  Should  any  descendant  of  King  Ramiro 
"  or  anybody  else  seek  to  violate  this  our  Testa- 
ment, or  hinder  its  fulfilment,  whatever  be  his 
condition,  whether  clerical  or  secular,  may  he  for 
ever  be  danuied  in  Hell,  together  with  Judas  the 
traitor.  Also,  may  his  children  become  orphans 
and  his  wife  a  widow ;  and  may  another  possess  his 
temporal  estate.  Also,  he  shall  be  deprived  of  the 
body  and  blood  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  therefore  of  the 
eternal  kingdom,  for  ever  and  for  ever.  More- 
over he  shall  pay  unto  the  king  and  the  church  of 
Santiago,  equally  between  the  two,  six  thousand 
pounds  of  silver.'"'  A  few  lines  further  on,  this 
malediction  is  repeated  with  increase  of  viru- 
lence. "  Whoso  should  seek  to  break  this  docu- 
ment and  donation  of  the  church  of  Santiago,  or 
should  refuse  to  pay  the  same,  whatever  his  station, 
whether  king,  prince,  labourer,  layman,  or  cleric,  we 
curse  and  excommunicate  him,  and  sentence  him  to 
the  pains  of  Hell,  that  there  he  be  tormented  ever- 
lastingly, together  with  Judas  the  traitor." 

The  detailed   account  of  the  battle   which  goes 
before    these    truly    Christian    phrases    is    carefully 

55 


Orana^a 


drawn  up  ad  hoc,  and  makes  delightful  reading. 
"  While  I  was  meditating  many  matters  and  turning 
over  in  my  mind  the  peril  of  the  Christians,  I,  King 
Ramiro,  fell  asleep.  So,  as  I  slumbered,  the  blessed 
apostle  Santiago,  defender  of  the  Spains,  was  pleased 
to  show  himself  before  me  in  the  flesh.  And  when, 
astonished  at  this  sight,  I  asked  him  who  he  w^as,  the 
apostle  of  God  made  answer,  'I  am  Santiago.' 
Therewith  I  wondered  greatly,  and  he  proceeded  ; 
'  Perchance  thou  knewest  not  that  Jesus  Christ, 
what  time  he  distributed  the  other  portions  of  the 
world  among  the  rest  of  the  apostles,  my  brethren, 
gave  unto  me  the  whole  of  Spain  to  guard,  placing 
her  beneath  my  shelter  and  protection?'  Then, 
squeezing  my  hand,  he  said,  '  Be  strong  and  confident, 
for  verilv  I  shall  assist  thee;  and  on  the  morrow, 
through  the  might  of  God,  thou  shalt  defeat  the 
countless  army  of  the  Moors  that  now  beset  thee.  Yet 
manv  of  thy  warriors  (for  whom  eternal  rest  already 
is  prepared)  shall  win  the  crown  of  martyrdom  in 
this  affray.  And  that  of  this  there  be  no  doubt,  ye 
and  the  Moors  shall  plainly  see  me  riding  a  white 
horse  of  marvellous  and  dazzling  beauty,  and  I  shall 
carry  a  white  standard  of  great  size.'  ■"  Of  course 
upon  the  morrow  the  saint  fulfilled  his  promise,  and 
sixty  thousand  Moors  were  slain.  The  title  of  this 
spurious  document  is  thus  translated,  and  forms 
almost  a  chronicle  in  itself :  "  The  Privilege  of 
King-  Ramiro,  confrmed  hy  the  Apostolic  See, 
relating  to  the  vote  he  made  to  the  glorious  apostle 
Santiago,  in  company  icith  the  archbishops,  bishops, 
clergy,  princes,  ricos  hombres,  army,  and  peoples  of 

56 


cbc  SncicJ  /mountain 

Spain  ;  in  viemonj  and  ircognition  of  the  deliverance 
obtained  from  the  Tribide  of  the  Hundred  Vir^'ins — 
zchich  tribute  thetj  zee  re  zoo  nt  to  pajj  unto  the  Moora — 
by  reason  of  the  victory  of  Clavijo,  zvherein  the  apostle 
appeared  before  the  King  (defeated  the  day  preceding 
at  Albclda)  and  either  arr/iy,  and  fought  against  the 
Moors  and  overcame  them,  repairing  the  peril  and 
the  risA-  of  ruin  zchich  threatened  Spain  ;  a  special 
privilege  vouchsafed  by  God  unto  no  other  nation 
in  the  world  :  wherefore  from  that  day  forth  we  call 
in  battle  upon  the  name  of  Santiago  as  the  patron 
and  deliverer  of  SpainT 

Let  us  return  to  Flores  and  his  gang.  In  course 
of  time  the  scandal  became  so  serious  and  the  com- 
plaints against  the  trio  of  forgers  so  unceasing,  that 
the  Government,  obliged  for  decency's  sake  to  inter- 
fere, laid  hands  on  all  the  three,  and  put  them  on 
their  trial.  After  much  amusing  evidence,  delivered 
by  each  one  against  the  others*  with  astounding- 
imperturbability,  they  were  found  guilty  and  sen- 
tenced to  short  terms  of  imprisonment ;  but  luckily 
for  Spain  the  trash  they  had  invented  was  piled  into 
a  heap  and  publicly  burnt. 

*  Flores,  when  under  examination,  admitted  that  "  the  very 
workmen  took  pains  to  keep  the  monuments  from  being  extracted 
until  a  large  concourse  should  assemble  ;  for  pious  persons, 
stimulated  by  religious  zeal,  rewarded  them  with  money  for  the 
finds  they  made  ;  and  such  did  their  greed  become  that  they 
used  to  introduce  among  the  ruins  the  splintered  bones  of 
animals,  and  sprinkling  them  with  water  perfumed  with  sweet- 
smelling  herbs,  roses,  or  jasmine,  sold  them  as  relics.  The 
credulous  folk  never  suspected  the  deceit  ;  but  he  who  was 
declaring  (Flores)  med  to  reprove  the  workmen  for  this  wickedness." 
— Los  Falsos  Cronicones,  p.  321,  note. 
51 


Ol■ana^a 


This  was  about  the  tiine  of  S\vinbiirnc''s  visit  to 
Granada.  Touching  the  forgers  and  their  trial,  he 
wrote:  "Medina  Conti,  author  of  the  Paseos  de 
Granada,  pretends  to  have  found  an  Arabic  manu- 
script of  this  j)eriod,  corroborating  the  testimony  of 
Peres  (de  liita)  :  but  these  writers  are  sudi  notorious 
impostors  that  little  credit  can  be  given  to  anything 
thev  may  advance:  however, there  must  undoubtedly 
be  some  foundation  for  these  anecdotes,  and  a  previous 
knowledge  of  them  is  rather  necessary  for  the  perfect 
understanding  of  the  Alhambra."  The  statement 
that  Conde  wrote  the  Paseos  de  Granada  is 
erroneous.  The  English  traveller  evidently  meant 
Kcheverria,  while  the  "  Arabic  manuscript  ^''  would 
be  that  of  which  a  rendering  is  inserted  in  the 
second  volume  of  the  Paseos,  pp.  71-75.  Swin- 
burne adds  in  a  footnote:  "Conti  (Conde),  in  order 
to  favour  the  pretensions  of  the  church  in  a  great 
lawsuit,  forged  deeds  and  inscriptions  which  he 
buried  in  the  ground  where  he  knew  they  would  shortly 
be  dug  up  again.  Upon  their  being  unearthed,  he 
published  engravings  of  them,  and  gave  explanations 
of  their  luiknown  characters,  making  them  out  to  be 
so  many  authentic  proofs  and  evidences  of  the  asser- 
tions of  the  clergy.  His  imposture  was  detected, 
and  he  now  lies  in  prison  without  much  hope  of 
recovering  his  liberty.  I  am  told  he  is  a  most 
learned,  ingenious  man,  profoundly  skilled  in  the 
antiquities  of  his  country.  The  Morocco  ambas- 
sador, in  his  way  through  Granada,  j)urchased  of 
this  man  a  copper  bracelet  of  Fatima,  which  Medina 
proved,  by  the  Arabic  inscription,  and  many  certifi- 

58 


■Cbc  Sncl■c^  /IRouiitam 

cates,  to  be  genuine,  and  founii  among  the  ruins  of 
part  of  the  Alhambra,  with  other  treasures  of  the 
last  king,  who  liad  hid  them  in  hopes  of  better  days. 
This  famous  bracelet  turned  out  afterwards  to  be  the 
work  of  Medina^s  own  hands,  aiid  made  out  of  an  old 
brass  candlestick."  {I'l-avcls  in  Spci'ni,  p.  185.)  It 
might  have  even  bettered  6winburne"'s  opinion  of  the 
ingenuity  of  these  gentlemen  had  he  known  that 
Echeverri'a  was  in  the  habit  of  publishing  anonymous 
attacks  upon  his  own  treatises,  in  order  to  render 
them  more  lively  and  convincing,  "  sustaining  in  this 
manner  a  kind  of  controversy  with  himself.'' 


59 


In  the  Albaycin 


IV 


The  Sacred  Mountain — concluded 

HE  regimen  of  the  church  and  college 
of  the  Sacro-Monte  from  inside  deserves 
a  brief  description.  As  soon  as  it  was 
known  that  Castro  proposed  to  found 
a  temple  and  a  seminary  upon  this 
hallowed  spot,  and  liberally  endow  them  from  his 
private  means,  letters  poured  in  on  him  from 
numerous  of  the  religious  orders  distributed  through- 
out the  Peninsula,  asking  to  be  awarded  the  custody 
of  the  new  establishments.  These  applications  were 
carefully  considered  by  the  prelate,  whose  choice  had 
beo-un  to  incline  towards  the  Order  of  Saint  Benedict, 
when  it  occurred  to  him  (plucking  a  leaf  from  the 
book  of  Dionysius  Alexandrinus)  to  visit  the  Sacred 

61 


C5rana&a 

Mountain  and  solve  his  doubts  by  prayer.  Accord- 
ingly he  penetrated,  quite  alone,  into  "  the  oven  of 
Saint  Hiscius,"  and  passed  in  this  seclusion  three 
mysterious  hours.  On  coining  out  he  refused  to  sign 
the  o-rant  he  had  intended  for  the  Benedictines, 
curtly  observing  that "  it  was  not  the  will  of  God. ' 
"  The  fact  is,"'  says  Kamos  Lopez,  echoing  the  words 
of  the  archbishop's  confessor,  "that  while  he  was  pray- 
ing in  the  oven  the  Virgin  appeared  to  him  and  bade 
him  provide  his  church  with  non-monastical  officials, 
mapping  out  for  him  the  whole  of  the  particulars 
wherewith  the  building  was  erected  a  twelvemonth 
later." 

The  seminary  was  titled  after  Saint  Dionysius 
the  Areopagite.  In  1609  a  bull  from  Paul  the 
Fifth  approved  its  rules  and  constitution,  and  eleven 
vears  later  a  royal  warrant  granted  by  Philip  the 
Fourth  placed  both  the  college  and  the  church 
beneath  the  tutelage  of  the  Crown.  Among  the 
forgeries  discovered  in  1595  had  been  a  stone  inscribed 
with  the  words  "  Alary  ccas  not  touched  hij  the  original 
sinT  The  credulous  archbishop  had  paid  a  singular 
veneration  to  this  stone,  and  fervently  enjomed  the 
doctrine  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  on  the  pupils 
of  the  Sacro-Monte.  The  college  regulations  were 
numerous  and  irksome.  As  in  other  lands,  the  students 
were  divided  into  "  Ancients  "  and  "  Moderns.''  The 
day  began  with  the  "  oration,"  from  five  to  six,  half- 
past  five  to  half-past  six,  or  six  to  seven,  according 
to  the  season.  Three-quarters  of  this  weary  hour 
were  passed  afoot.  After  this  the  Seminarists  were 
allowed  to  breakfast  (except  on  Saturdays  and  other 

62 


•Cbc  Sac^c^  /fountain 

days  of  abstinence,  when  neither  bite   nor  sup  was 

permitted),    but    not    witli   "fried    things,   such    as 

breadcrumbs,  or  anything  else  which  might  prevent 

their  studying."'     The  interval  from  one  to  other  of 

their  morning  studies  was  passed  in  '"  conference " 

in  the  cloisters  ;  but  no  group  was  to  consist  of  more 

than  four  scholars,  and  the  rector  was  to  be  present 

whenever    possible — a  nice  way,  one  may   think,  of 

developing  the    youthful    intellect.    The     Ancients 

were    allowed  a    black  cap  and  a   cloak   in   winter, 

but  no  gloves.     The  Moderns  must  go  bare-headed. 

If  one  of  the  latter  should   cover  his  mouth  with  a 

fold  of  his  capa  (making  what  is  known  as  the  cmbozo*), 

he  must  unroll  it  every  time  that  the  rector  or  any 

of  the    prebendaries  passed   him   by.     The  midday 

meal  was  awful  in  the  icy  frigidness  of  its  routine. 

At  the  clanging  of  a  bell  each  scholar  went  to  his 

room  and  fetched  his  knife  and  fork,  his  napkin  and 

his  spoon,  and  waited  in  the  cloisters  until  the  rector 

gave  three  knocks  upon  the  door  of  the  refectory. 

Hereinto    the    con)pany    now    trooped    "  in    total 

silence,"  and  stood  in  a  double  row  while  grace  was 

said.    Two  of  the  Moderns  then  conveyed  into  tiie 

middle  of  the  hall  a  bare  bench,  occupied  forthwith 

bv  half  a  dozen  wretches  told  off  to  deliver  a  lesson 

in  law.     Besides  the  bench  the  dining-hall  contained 

a  small  pulpit,  and  occasionally,  by  way  of  varying 

the  digestive,  the  lesson  was  a  chapter  of  holy  writ, 

followed  by  extracts  from   a  volume  designated  by 

the  rector. 

After  the  due  preliminaries  the  kitchen  hatch  was 
*  See  The  Land  of  the  Dons,  p.  48. 

6.'} 


©ranafea 


opened,  and  the  servants  (I  need  hardly  state  that 
these  were  male)  proceeded  to  distribute  the  bread 
and  the  water-bottles.  Nobody  was  to  choose  his 
bread,  but  had  to  take  it  as  it  came  to  him.  The  way 
to  call  the  servants  was  by  "  rapping  once  or  twice 
upon  the  table,  not  with  the  hands,  but  with  the 
knife,  or  spoon,  or  fork.""  Otherwise  "the  silence 
shall  be  strait  enough  for  this  to  seem  the  eating- 
chamber  of  some  staid  community,  and  not  of  puerile 
and  orderless  people.''  Even  the  scholar  who  dis- 
covered a  pressing  need  to  quit  the  room  must  make 
his  exit  "  underneath  the  table  ■"  * 

When  the  scanty  meal  was  at  an  end,  the  kitchen 
window  was  shut,  the  lesson-readers  filed  away,  and 
their  bench  was  removed.  The  servants  then  col- 
lected the  water-bottles  and  the  broken  bread,  and 
each  student,  taking  his  leavings  to  the  end  of  the 
table  and  depositing  them  there,  inclined  his  head 
to  signify  that  he  freely  made  them  over  to  "  the 
poor  servants."  Lastly,  the  congregation  repeated  a 
Tit  autem  Dom'ine  miserere  nobis  (which  seems,  under 
the  circumstances,  to  have  been  a  very  logical  peti- 
tion), and  left  the  hall. 

Yet  even  in  so  rigorous  a  community  the  emi- 
nently Spanish  institution  of  the  siesta  was  loyally 
maintained;  so  while  their  empty  stomachs  were 
making  believe  to  digest  the  banquet  I  have  outlined, 
the  scholars,  after  a  spell  of  conversation  in  the  Sala 
de  Quiete,  retired  to  the  doors  of  their  respective 

*  Praxis  de  las  Ceremonias  que  debcn  ohservarse  por  los  Colegiales 
del  Insigne  Colegio  de  Theologos,  y  Juristas  del  Senor  S.  Dionisio 
Areopagita,  sito  en  el  Sacro  llipulitano  Monte,  extra-Muros  de  la 
Ciudad  de  Granada  (printed  about  1785),  Insirnecion  vi. 


Ubc    Sacrct  /IDountaiu 

rooms  to  take  their  niodicuiu  of  oil  from  the  Superior, 
and  shutting  out  the  sunlight,  went  compulsorily  to 
bed.  Later  in  the  day,  and  when  the  afternoon 
classes  were  concluded,  they  were  permitted  for  half 
an  hour  before  the  spiritual  exercise  of  the  Kosario 
to  indulge  in  pliysical  exercise  upon  the  sn\a\[  phicda 
adjacent  to  the  college,  but  they  were  not  to  retire 
towards  the  sacred  caves,  or  purchase  honey  or  chest- 
nuts, "  which  do  more  harm  than  benefit'';  and  the 
sellers  of  these  dainties  are  warned  to  keep  their 
distance  from  the  holy  building.  Supper  was  as 
wearisome  as  luncheon,  philosophy,  not  law,  being  now 
the  mental  sauce  served  up  with  every  plate.  Then 
there  was  a  spell  for  digestive  purposes  in  the  Sala 
de  Quietc,  and  at  a  quarter  to  ten  Litany  in  the 
chapel,  with  sometimes  a  Rosario  added,  and  always 
"  a  scrutiny  of  consciences." 

On  going  to  rest  the  students  were  provided  with 
a  dingy,  flickering  ^'^/o/^  to  light  them  into  bed,  from 
when  till  after  morning  service  of  the  day  succeeding 
no  pupil  was  to  breathe  a  syllable  to  his  schoolmates. 
But  as  they  reached  their  bedrooms,  all  made  ready 
in  the  doorway  to  receive  a  dose  of  holy  water.   Each 
scholar,  both  the  Ancient  and  the  Modern,  nuist  at 
this  instant  have  his  collar  on  and  "stand  at  cere- 
mony " — that  is,  pressing  his  cap  against  his  breast 
with  both  hands — until  the  rector,  attended   by  a 
servant  carrying  the  holy  water,  passed  to  administer 
the  precious  fluid  to  every  member  of  the  company. 
Then,  after  a  paragraph  or  two  of  dog- Latin  palaver 
on  either  side,  the  doors  were  closed  and  bolted,  and 
all  (one  hopes)  was  sanctity  and  slumber. 

65  E 


^3l•ana^a 


So  much  for  the   daily  routine  of  the  collegians. 
The  rest  of  their  book  of  rules  and  regulations  is 
absorbed  with  detail,  quaint  from  its  very  triviality. 
The  admission  of  a  candidate  to  the  Sacro-INIonte 
was  held  to  be  a  grave  affair.    The  period  of  proba- 
tion was  a  month,  and  a  whole  Instruction  is  devoted 
to  the  ceremonies  connected  with  the  taking  of  the 
hood.     This,  together  with   the   cap  and  with  the 
gospel  on  which  the  candidate  was  to  take  the  oath, 
was  deposited  on  a  silver  platter.     Towards  the  close 
of  the  proceedings, and  when  the  neophyte  was  already 
invested  with   his  hood  and  cap,  and  had  embraced 
the  rector  and  numerous  other  persons  of  the  plainer 
^ex,  an  article  was  read  to  him  enjoining  him  on  pain 
ofjirompt  expulsion  not  to  carry  any  kind  of  firearm 
or  other  offensive  or  defensive  weapon,  and  exacting 
his   consent  that  in  prevention  of  this  heinous  mis- 
demeanour the  rector  should  search  his  clothing  at 
any  hoiu-  of  the  day  or  night.     (The  reason  for  this 
-stringent  clause   will  be  discovered  presentlv.)     At 
leno-th,    when  these    formalities  were    through,   the 
victim  signed  the  register  and  the  public  ceremony 
terminated.     Privately,  the  new  collegian  was  pro- 
hibited from   "standing"  celebrations  at   his    own 
expense — iced  watei',  sweets,  or  any  other  substance. 
He  might,  however,  bestow  an  alms  upon  the  Chapel 
of  Saint  Dionysiiis,  and  "  gratify  "  the  "  poor  viozos;" 
namely,   the    larderer,    cook,   porter,    cankulario  or 
beadle,*  the  barber,  and  the  barber's  assistant. 

*  Caiiiculario—"  Beadle,  he  who  beats  dogs  out  of  the  church." 
So  says  the  venerable  Spanish  and  English  Dictionary  of 
Fathers  Higgins  and  Connelly.  In  this  case,  more  properly  the 
hedel. 

66 


Zbc  S  a  ci  c  ^  /Il>  0  u  n  t  a  I  n 

Twice  a  year,  in  September  and  March,  the  student 
paid  his  board  and  lodging.  Otlierwise  his  wants 
were  few,  consisting  merely  of"  the  indispensable 
articles  of  clothing,  a  "  little  book  of  Saint  Peter  of 
Alcantara, '^  another  of  Father  Kempis,  the  Exerci^es 
of  Saint  Ignatius  of  Loyola,  and  "  some  d'l-snprnut.s^^'' 
described  in  my  old  Spanish  dictionary  as  "  a  disci- 
pline, an  instrument  for  whipping ;  a  cat  o"  nine 
tails." 

This  Praxi.s  is  so  stocked  with  prohibitions  that 
the  student  hardly  seems  to  be  permitted  anything 
but  prayer.  "  Nothing  fashionable "  may  form  a 
part  of  his  attire.  Neither  externally  nor  inwardly 
may  he  indulge  in  "  coloured  clothing,  or  silk,  or  any- 
thing resembling  it,""  or  go  "profanely  ornamented, 
whether  indoors  or  out."  \\'e  further  learn  that  his 
ordinary  college  costume  is  to  be  "a  tawny  cloak, 
a  black  baize  cap,  more  than  four  fingers  high," 
and  for  outdoor  wear,  "a  hood  of  rose-coloured 
cloth,  or  clerical  habit  Avith  a  white  collar  above, 
but  no  collar  or  anything  else  new-fangled  to  the 
habit  itself.  The  vest  should  have  no  flaps,  or  ribbcms, 
or  strings,  or  buttons  about  the  upper  part,  but  must 
be  absolutely  plain.  No  reticles,  not  even  black 
ones,  must  confine  the  hair;  nor  nnist  the  shoes  have 
heels.  These,  furthermore,  nuist  fasten,  not  with 
buckles  but  with  buttons,  even  where  a  habit  is 
worn.  Neither  within  the  college  nor  without  shall 
gloves  be  used.  The  cloak  is  to  be  decent,  and  of 
such  a  length  as  to  reach  the  heel  behind  and  the 
instep  before.  The  students  must  have  no  knife 
except    a    penknife  ;    and    this    (like    most    of    the 

67 


©r3na^a 

prohibitions  we  are  i-eading)  "  without  a  point  to 
it,"  AV^eapons,  both  firearms  and  others,  are  pro- 
hibited on  pain  of  instant  banishment.  He  shall 
also  be  expelled  who  secretly  breaks  college  of  anight, 
or  introduces  women,  even  if  they  he  his  mother  or 
sisters.  Playing  at  cards  is  vetoed  ;  likewise,  under 
special  penalties,  "the  taking  of  tobacco  smoke; 
since,  if  this  custom  be  endured,  our  community 
will  see  itself  invaded  by  a  habit  which  induces 
the  students  to  forsake  their  studies,  and  congre- 
gate in  parties  detrimental  to  their  good  behaviour.^'' 
Nor  are  they  to  drink  wine,  aguardiente,  "  sundew  " 
(ros  solis),  or  similar  strong  liquors.  Neither  Ancient 
nor  Modern  is  permitted  the  use  of  a  brasero  or  a 
fire,  "  nor  must  they  {)lay  on  any  instrument,  as  being 
improper  to  the  reverence  of  this  sanctuary."* 

Hair-cutting  day  was  passed  as  follows.  The 
scholars  were  summoned  in  groups  of  four,  the 
Moderns  in  the  morning  and  the  Ancients  in  the 
afternoon  ;  each  scholar  having  to  provide  his  towel. 
Next,  the  crown  of  the  head  was  shaved  or"  opened  "  ; 
in  other  words,  the  clerical  tonsure  was  performed, 
obedient  to  "the  common  right  and  special  privilege 
conceded  to  our  college.  Some  moderate  and  decent 
locks  above  the  ears  are  suffered  to  remain,  but  no 
whiskers ;  and  the  cue  is  cut  so  as  not  to  fall  below 
the  white  collar  in  the  Moderns,  or  the  collar  of 
the  cloak  in  the  Ancients.  No  bushy  hair  will  be 
allowed."  In  this  way,  four  times  yearly  at  the  least, 
was  carried  out  the  rasure  of  the  Sacro-]VIonte  ;  "  for 
if  it  be  omitted,  the  students  in  their  youth  allow 
*  Praxis,  Instr.  xxi. 

68 


"Cbc  Sacrc^  /fountain 


their  hair  to  <^ro\v,  and  fill  themselves  with  vanity, 
transgressing  the  honesty,  and  modesty,  and  good 
behaviour  that  are  proper  to  our  institution."* 

Such  are  a  selected  few  of  the  regulations,  or  pro- 
hibitions (for  in  this  case  the  words  are  practically 
synonvius).  Whether  they  were  faithfully  observed 
I  cannot  say,  I  only  know,  from  intimate  experience, 
that  a  Spaniard  is  never  happier  than  when  he  is 
making  a  law,  except  when  he  is  breaking  one.  My 
readers  will  therefore  draw  tiieir  own  conclusion. 

The  students  reached  the  climax  of  their  miseries 
during  the  period  of  the  Lenten  exercises ;  and  also 
when  the  ''  discipline  or  cat  o"  nine  tails ''  was  called 
into  employment.  Grim  and  gloomy  are  the  precepts 
for  this  latter  function.  Once  a  week,  all  through 
the  year,  except  in  May,  June,  and  July,  the  entire 
college  took  their  places  in  the  church,  each  penitent 
at  a  sufficient  distance  from  his  neighbours.  Then 
the  lights  were  put  out ;  and  to  solemn  words  and 
music,  and  the  solemn  swishing  of  the  cruel  little 
thongs,  the  company  (excepting,  we  suppose,  the 
rector)  performed  "  a  fervid  act  of  contrition '' ; 
at  the  close  of  which  a  light  was  brought  in  and  the 
rector  stood  by  the  door  to  see  if  any  member  of  his 
flock  had  accidentally  forgotten  his  cat  o'  nine  tails.f 

The  Lenten  exercises,  though  not,  perhaps,  so 
painful  in  a  literal  and  fleshly  sense,  were  also  fraught 
with  much  discomfort.  For  days  together  the  •'  ex- 
ercitants''  might  neither  walk,  nor  talk,  nor  break 
their  fast.  Even  their  bedrooms  were  deban-ed  from 
them,  although  they  were  ajjpointed  a  brief  interval  of 
*   l^nixis,  Iiistr.  XX.  t  U  .  !"sti:  xxvii. 

09 


©ranasa 


repose  in  the  "  exercise  room  " — apparently  a  kind  of 
eighteenth  century  torture-chamber.  Here,  if  their 
bodies  sank  beneath  them,  they  must  "arrange 
themselves  upon  the  floor  as  well  as  they  are  able ; 
])ut  without  taking  off  their  cloaks,  and  without 
making  tl)eir  books  into  a  pillow." 

In  these  authentic  illustrations  we  therefore  find  an 
accurate  and  first-hand  account  of  Spanish  academic 
life  a  hundred  years  ago.  To-day  we  should  expect  so 
rigorous  if  impractical  a  course  to  turn  out  little  but 
dunces,  prigs,  or  hypocrites.  Pedraza,  notwithstanding, 
dwells  in  terms  of  high  complacency  upon  the  virtue 
and  the  erudition  of  the  Sacro-Monte  scholars ;  * 
while  Ramos  Lopez,  president  in  our  own  time,  assures 
us  that  they  emerge  from  these  secluded  and  severe 
cloisters  "  advanced  in  virtue  and  letters,  courtesy  and 
culture,  all  of  which  is  useful  to  them  everywhere." 

This  may  be  so  ;  and  certainly  the  learned  gentle- 
man devotes  the  whole  of  a  lengthy  chapter  to  the 
pupils  or  professors  of  the  Sacred  Mountain  whom  he 
instances  as  having  reached  celebrity.  The  list  is 
slightly  disappointing.  For  my  part,  I  can  only 
recollect  three  men  connected  with  this  college 
whom  the  world  has  cared,  or  could  have  greatly 
cared,  to  hear  about.  These  are  the  dramatist,  poet, 
and  antiquarian,  Aureliano  Fernandez  Guerra  y 
Orbe ;  the  novelist  Juan  Valera  ;  and  Father  Andres 
Manjdn.  Thanks  to  PepHa  Jhnhicz,  Don  Juan 
Valera  needs  no  introduction  of  mine  among  an 
English-speaking  people  ;  on  several  occasions  I  have 
availed  myself  of  Fernandez  Guerra's  studies  and 
*  Hist,  de  Gran.  p.  275. 

70 


Zbc  SacicJ  /mountain 

researches  on  old  Granada;  and  to  Father  Manjtin, 
philosoj)her  and  philanthropist,  I  shall  devote  a 
chapter  of  this  volume  very  shortlv. 

On  the  other  hand,  one  is  rather  shocked  to  find 
among  the  Sacro-Monte  worthies  (juoted  hv  Senor 
Ramos,  the  name  of  the  former  abbot  and  canon, 
Luis  Francisco  deViana,  whom  we  have  seen  aljetting 
Echevern'a  and  his  gang  of  rogues.  At  this  rate  the 
l)iographer  might  just  as  well  have  included  Eche- 
vern'a himself,  together  with  (Medina)  Conde,  and 
the  student  who,  on  October  5,  1726,  bestowed  "  a 
violent  and  instantaneous  death"  upon  a  conu'ade  ; 
or,  in  our  less  benevolent  though  more  veracious 
Saxon  term,  assassinated  him.* 

But  these  are  only  details.  Speaking  in  a  broad, 
uncritical,  catholic  spirit,  who  would  deny  that  the 
Sacred  Mountain  of  Granada  has  played  a  prominent 
part  in  Spanish  history,  both  sacred  and  profane  ; 
and  bears  a  venerated  name  anion";  all  <i;enuine 
believers  ?  Do  not  her  legends  flourish  to  this  hour  ? 
Every  Sunday,  at  the  evening  hour  of  eight,  the 
chaj)terand  the  inmates  of  the  college,  headed  bv  a 
priest  bearing  an  image  of  the  Virgin,  visit  in  devout 
procession  the  last  of  the  chapels  constructed  among 
the  holy  caves,  for  it  is  known  that  this  is  the  precise 
spot  whereon  the  saints  "were  accustomed  to  cele- 
brate the  mysteries  of  their  religion,  and  preach  the 
divine   word    unto  the  new -converted.     This   truth 

*  Praxis,  p.  151.  This  was  why  the  student,  upon  admission 
to  the  college,  was  stringently  forbidden  to  carry  arms.  It  is  a 
pity  that  our  amiable  friends  the  Spaniards  are  not  more 
generally  prudent  in  this  matter,  instead  of  continuing  to  stick 
and  shoot  one  another  as  freely  as  they  do  at  present. 

71 


(2l•ana^a 

was  proved  by  the  discovery  of  a  t-up  and  leaden 
vessels,"' 

What  a  thing  is  faith — or  obstinacy  !  Senor 
Ramos''  tenaciousness  deserves  the  closing  word,  and 
I  shall  grant  it  him.  '•  As  the  procession  advances 
through  these  holy  grottos,  the  image  of  the  Virgin 
visits,  week  by  week,  the  martyrs'  tombs — spots 
whicli  the  Lord  has  looked  upon  with  special  pre- 
dilection. The  shades  of  Cecil,  Ctesiphon,  Hiscius, 
and  their  followers  seem  to  come  forth  to  welcome 
the  Virgin  Mother,  and  mingling  with  the  company 
unite  their  voices  with  our  own  to  greet  in  her  the 
Star  of  the  Seas,  the  City  of  God,  the  ever-Virgin, 
and  the  Happy  Gate  of  Heaven."' 

"These  dulcet  accents  find  an  echo  in  the 
empyrean,  where  angels,  to  the  music  of  their  golden 
harps,  repeat  the  very  verses  that  expire  beneath  the 
bosom  of  the  catacombs.*" 


72 


The  Cortijo  of  San  Jeronimo 


A  Cortijo  in  the  Sierra 

HE  Granadinos  are  essentiallv  line- 
weather  folks,  coddled  and  spoiled  bv 
the  perennial  sunshine  of  tlieii- 
caniu'ues  and  Vega ;  and  so,  about  the 
end  of  October,  as  soon  as  I  announced 
my  intention  of  climbing  the  Peak  of  the  \  eleta, 
thickly  streaked  with  snow,  they  laughed  into  my 
face.  However,  my  resolve  was  taken.  In  autumn 
I  had  reached  (iranada  ;  in  autumn  the  venture  nmst 
be  made,  for  probably  it  was  a  (;ase  of  now  or  never. 
Consoling  mvself,  therefore,  with  the  reflection  that 
there  was  plenty  of  method  in  my  madness,  and 
confounding  mv  Spanish  friends  and   enemies   with 

73 


OranaSa 

theix-  own  proverb  insisting  that  a  madman  under- 
stands his  business  better  than  a  sane  outsider  under- 
tands  it,*  I  looked  about  for  a  prdctico,  and  fixed  the 
fatal  hour  of  departure. 

I  found  this  jmlcfico  or  guide  in  one  Jose  Fer- 
nandez—  as    we   might    say,    an    Andalusian   John 
Jones — nicknamed,  for  sake  of  readier  identification, 
Pincho,  a   native    of  the    neighbouring    village    of 
Huetor.     "Please   call    me  Pincho,"'   he    exclaimed, 
upon  the  striking  of  our  bargain  :  "  my  real  name  is 
of  no  use  to  me,  for  nobody  knows  me  by  it ; ""  so 
taken  with    the  novelty   of  his  request  I  gave  my 
promise  on  the  spot,  and  Pincho  he  shall  remain  till 
the  end  of  my   narrative.     A  small,  spare,    sinewy, 
vivacious,  swarthy  young  man  of  seven  or  eight  and 
twenty,  a  veritable  son  of  tlie  Sierra,  trained  from 
early  boyhood  to  ransack  the  crannies,  and  caves,  and 
glaciers  of  INIulhacen  for  m((nza)uUa,oY  stalk  the  moun- 
tain-goat upon  the  slippery  and  jagged  sides  of  the 
Trevenque.    He  was,  besides,  the  undisputed  ow  ner  of 
a  brace  of  gaunt  and  sorry-looking  female  Rocinantes, 
reported,  notwithstanding  their  conspicuous  lack  of 
comeliness,  to   be  among  the   sturdiest  and  surest- 
footed  of  their  kind,  and  as  familiar  as  their  master 
with  each  path  and  precipice  of  the  mighty  Mountains 
of  the  Sun  and  Air.     We  thus  agreed  that  for  two  and 
thirty  reales,    or    about    five    shillings  day  by  day, 
Pincho  and  his  steeds  should  take  me  up  to  the  Peak 
of  the    V^eleta   and  down  again   to  the   hotel ;    the 
keep  of  the  cattle  to   be  at  Pineiro's   charge  ;    the 
maintenance  of  Pincho  to  be  at  mine.     This  was  the 
*  "  Sale  III  (is  el  loco  en  sii  casa,  que  el  cuerdo  en  ia  ajena." 

74 


H  Coitijo  ii\  tbc  Siciia 

substance  of  our  covenant ;  and  graspin<^-  hands 
across  a  ha'porth  of  adulterated  as  well  as  watered 
wine,  we  testified  to  the  honom-able  word,  respec- 
tively, of  Wales  and  Andalusia. 

Our  line  of  march  and  commissariat  were  soon 
determined,  for  Pinclio,  though  a  Spaniard,  was  a 
lover  of  despatch.  In  Spanish  phraseology,  we  carried 
the  matter  "  at  the  lance's  point.''  I  also  had  the 
luck  to  bear  "  a  letter  of  presentation  "  from  the 
owner  of  a  farm  in  the  Sierra  to  his  guar  da  or 
superintendent,  instructing  him  to  open  wide  the 
door  to  the  intrepid  expeditionists,  and  put  them 
up  in  hospitable  fashion.  This  referred  to  bed  alone  : 
our  board,  composed  as  follows,  must  travel  with  us  : 

A  tin  of  cocoa. 

A  half-bottle  of  brandy. 

A  kilo  and  a  half  of  cooked  veal. 

A  quarter  of  a  kilo  of  Spanish  sausage. 

Three  kilos  of  bread. 

A  pound  of  sugar. 

A  packet  of  salt. 

A  tin  of  stewed  peaches. 
The  rest  of  the  impedimenta  consisted  of 

Two  boxes  of  matches. 

A  spirit  lamp,  spirit,  and  saucepan. 

An  iron  mug. 

Cigarettes. 

Two  blankets. 

Field  glasses. 

Three  photographic  cameras,  loaded. 

A  spare  box  of  plates  for  changing  on  the  journey. 
(On    reaching    the    C'ortijo,   Pincho,   with  the    most 

75 


Oranada 

benevolent  intentions  in  the  world,  mistook  this  box 
for  that  of  the  stewed  peaches,  and  with  a  sweep  of 
his  navaja  laid  it  dexterously  open  on  the  supper- 
table.) 

A  cake  of  cocoa-butter  for  anointing  chafed  faces  — 

and  elsewhere. 

That  admirable  Hispano-Oriental  institution,  the 
leathern  bota.  I  purchased  a  new  one,  holding  nearly 
three  litres,  and  filled  it  at  the  Venta  Alegre  with 
strong  red  wine.     One  dollar,  wine  included. 

At  half-past  eleven  of  a  showery  morning  our 
cavalcade  was  ready  for  the  road;  the  capachos*  packed, 
the  nags  bestridden,  Pincho  leading  on  the  white,  I 
following  on  the  brown.  The  starting-point  was  the 
hotel  door.  My  friends,  marshalled  on  the  step, already 
envied,  I  suppose,  our  safe  return.  At  any  rate  they 
sought  with  scoffs  and  evil  auguries  to  intimidate  the 
pair  of  madmen  bound  for  the  treacherous  Sierra  of 
the  Snows,  though  strangers  glanced  at  us  with  sym- 
pathy, and  wished  us  buen  v'laje.  Then,  giving  a 
grin  to  all  alike,  we  moved  away  at  a  majestic  stride, 
down  the  Alameda,  over  the  Genii,  and  out  of  a  long 
lane,  fringed  with  vines  and  gardens,  onto  the  open 
hillside. 

The  approach  to  the  Sierra  Nevada  is  over  a  series 
of  steep  acclivities  and  descents,  chiefly  unwooded, 
swelling  by  fuirly  regular  stages  from  a  hundred  feet 
or  so  to  four  or  five  thousand.  Plach  of  these 
swellings  has  its  name,  usually  derived  from  some- 

*  Big  round  baskets,  slung  on  either  side  of  the  saddle.  Pro- 
perly employed  for  carrying  grapes  in  harvest-time,  they  are 
roomier  and  handier  for  a  mountain  expedition  than  the  ordinary 
alforja. 

76 


K  Cortijo  in  tbc  Sicvva 

thing  of  small  importance  on,  or  in,  or  round  about 
it ;  the  Cerro  de  la  Ventana  overtopping  the  Cerro 
de  la  Campanuela ;  el  Puche  *  overtopping  the 
Ventana ;  the  Cerro  de  IMonachil  overtopping  the 
Puche;  and,  further  on,  the  Cerro  de  la  Teja  and 
Cerro  del  Nogal  overtopping  the  Cerro  de  Monachil. 
After  this  the  heights  grow  formidable,  and  the 
Cerro  del  Tesoro,  Cerro  del  Trevenque,  and  Cerro  de 
]\Iatas  Verdes  are  second  only  to  the  snow-clad  slopes 
and  steeps  of  the  Sierra. 

As  soon  as  we  began  to  mount  Sierra-wards  the 
weather  grew  wet  and  nasty,  with  a  touch  of  chilli- 
ness, although  beneath  the  rain-clouds  the  sun  con- 
tinued shining.  By  reason  of  this  the  prospect  was 
a  double  one,  both  grave  and  gay  at  once,  smiling  to 
right  and  left  upon  the  Vega  and  the  lovely  valley 
of  the  Genii,  and  frowning  before  us  into  the  vapour- 
laden  summits  of  the  higher  ccrros.  From  end  to 
end  the  Vega  and  the  valley  displayed  their  specks 
and  rows  of  gleaming  whitewashed  villages,  from  the 
Sierra  de  Padul  on  the  one  hand  to  the  Sierra  de 
Alfacar  on  the  other.  Prominent  among  these 
villages  were  Huetor,  Cenes,  and  Pinos  Puente.  I 
have  seen  many  uncommon  landscapes,  but  never  a 
one  more  strange  than  this,  more  melancholy,  or 
more  beautiful. 

On  we  plodded,  silently  and  slowly.  Pincho,  im- 
pervious to  scenery,  but  not  to  rain,  pulled  his 
.sombrero    down    upon    his    ears    and    wrapped    his 

*  Puche  or  Purche  =  Puig.Piiy,  Provencal  piiech,  Catalan /k^x, 
Italian  poggio ;  all  from  Latin  pogiinn,  piigium,  a  hill,  ridge, 
mound. — Simonet,  Glosario  de  Voces  Ibertcas  v  Latinas  usadas 
entre  los  Mozdrabes,  p.  451. 

77 


C5  r  a  n  a  ^  a 


shoulders  in  his  blanket.  What  he  could  spare 
of  this  he  threw  on  the  capacho.s^  looming  like 
kettledrums  across  the  downpour.  Now  and  then 
we  met  a  muleteer  from  some  corfijo,  tramping 
beside  his  nodding,  jangling,  potato-laden  beasts, 
and  sped  him  citywards  with  a  short  "  co;?  Dios,'''' 
grudging  him  at  heart  his  sunny  haven  in  the  valley. 
And  yet,  at  least  to  me,  the  cold,  repellent  scenery 
was  wondei'fully  \\ild  and  wonderfully  fascinating. 
The  mantle  of  the  storm  becomes  this  desolate 
region  better  than  blue  skies.  Unfathomable  tajos^ 
topless  cliffs,  immure  the  writhing  roadway;  and  our 
mountain  nags,  obedient  to  the  awkward  custom  of 
their  kind,  kept  picking  the  very  border  of  the 
precipice.  One  of  my  feet  was  treading  cloud  ;  and 
several  times  I  grasped  the  girth  and  tested  the 
stirrupless  saddle  with  a  shudder. 

Meanwhile  the  soil  had  changed  in  colour  from 
tawny  to  vermilion  ;  and,  washing  the  soil  away,  the 
pelting  rain  brought  down  innumerable  streamlets,  so 
that  the  road  seemed  running  blood.  Once,  as  we 
turned  a  corner,  I  stole  a  backward  glance ;  and  lo  ! 
the  dwindling  towers  of  the  Alhambra  were  reddened 
also — the  selfsame  colour  of  the  streamlets  of  the 
road. 

Four  hours  from  Granada — four  hours  nearer 
heaven — we  struck  to  the  left  and  floundered 
through  half-fro/en  mire  across  the  level  sunmiit 
of  the  Puche.  Here  we  encountered  a  family  of 
labourers  going  down  to  pass  the  winter.  The  man 
was  dragging  an  ass,  heaped  high  with  maize,  pota- 
toes, and  a  stick   or  two  of  furniture ;  the   woman 

78 


1\  Cert  1)0  m  tiK  Sic  I  in 

piloted  a   povker,  Irisli   fasliioii,  by  the  leg";  and  a 
couple  of  la<>;giii<;'  brats  Ijrought  up  tlie  rear. 

Ueyond  tlie  Fuehe  is  a  ouHy  imprisoning  the 
Cortijo  de  las  Minibres,  bedded  in  an  acre  or  two 
of  loaniv  arable  ;  and  over  tlie  crest  of  the  opposite 
rerro  is  the  Cortijo  of  San  Jerciniuio,  to  which  we 
were  consigned.  This  last  ascent  is  almost  perpen- 
dicular. In  general,  when  we  speak  of  a  horse  as 
climbing  a  hill,  the  term  is  simply  hyperbolic ;  but 
in  this  instance  there  is  no  exaggeration,  for  the  hoof 
seemed  not  to  tread  the  ground  so  much  as  to  be 
trying  to  catch  hold  of  it. 

It  was  now  so  dark  that  very  shortly  only  masses 
and  outlines  were  distinguishable.  The  contour  of 
the  ccrro  was  too  f\intastic  for  descri})tion.  A  moun- 
tain, no  matter  how  jagged  and  abrupt,  looks  always 
orthodox  so  long  as  it  retains  the  shape  its  Maker 
gave  to  it;  but,  once  enveloped  in  a  mist,  becomes 
a  fearful,  unfamiliar,  spectral  form  ;  the  more  so 
when  a  stiffish  wind  disturbs,  and  shifts,  and  splits, 
and  shrinks  it  from  one  moment  to  another.  As  to 
the  silence,  immense  describes  it  less  inadequately 
than  inteihse.  The  stillness  was  as  vast  and  eerie,  if 
not  as  changeful,  as  the  mountain;  though  once  I 
heard  a  horse's  neigh  at  the  Cortijo  underfoot,  and 
once  or  twice  the  echo  of  the  blasting  in  the  river 
Monachil — strains  that  were  carried  up  to  us  as  faint 
and  sad  as  the  sound  of  a  convent-bell,  borne  from 
far  off  upon  the  darkness  of  a  winter  morning. 

At  last  (and  never,  I  maintain,  can  two  short 
words  have  meant  so  much  before),  a  long,  taint 
patch    of    white    and    the    barking    of    dogs    dis- 

79 


tSranaSa 

closed  the  near  Cortijo  of  San  Jerdnimo.  Nobody, 
except  the  dogs,  seemed  much  concerned  at  our 
arrival.  However,  the  door  was  open,  so  springing 
from  the  saddle  we  stepped  within.  The  room  in 
which  we  found  ourselves  was  long  and  low,  lacking  all 
conscious  art  or  symmetrv,and  just  designed  to  shelter 
man  and  beast — especially  the  latter.  At  one  end  an 
enormous  fireplace,  with  a  conical  top  that  touched  the 
raftered  ceiling,  vomited  mingled  smoke  and  flame  ; 
and  at  the  other  a  prehistorically  rude  stone  stair- 
case wound  above  into  the  only  storey.  In  one 
of  the  sides  was  the  "  street  ■"  door,*and  in  the  other, 
the  entrance  to  the  yard  and  stables.  The  kitchen  was 
an  oblong  bench  of  stone,  with  a  lilliputian  hornillo 
for  the  cooking,  and  a  hole  for  the  clay  water-bottle — 
this  latter  of  a  markedly  oriental  shape.  Close  to 
the  bottle  was  a  roughly  giazed  barrefio,  or  earthen 
tub  for  scouring  dishes.  Before  being  spoiled  by 
years  of  wear,  it  might  have  cost  a  shilling;  and 
the  pale  sea-green  of  this  enamel  is  just  the  pigment 
used  by  the  Andalusian  Muslims  seven  hundred 
years  ago.  Above  the  kitchen  was  a  small  shelf,  built 
into  a  niche  in  the  wall  and  holding  two  glasses  and 
two  plates.  A  dingy  rack  with  a  handful  of  pewter 
spoons  hung  near  the  shelf;  and  close  to  the  rack 
a  bunch  of  horseshoes,  a  gun,  and  a  powder-flask. 
Upon  the  floor  were  a  chair  or  two,  a  bench,  and  a 
heap  of  heads  of  maize.  Such  is  the  eating,  sleeping, 
and  working-room  of  any  farm  in  the  Sierra  Nevada. 

*  La  calle,  "  the  street."  Such  is  the  name  the  people  of  the 
cortijo  bestow  upon  the  barren  ledge  on  which  their  tenement 
is  constructed. 

80 


H  Coi-tijo  in  tbc  Sicira 

I  knew  the  guarda  at  a  glance,  not  bv  the  cut  of 
his  clothes,  which  were  pastoral  enough,  but  by  his 
domineering  air;  and,  ])ulling  out  the  danij)  and 
rufHed  letter  from  my  cordui'ov  jacket,  ])resente(l  my 
credentials.  Taking  an  iron  ((tud'il  and  hanging  it 
from  a  string,  he  sat  beneath,  and,  raising  the  mis- 
sive to  the  light,  nodded  towards  a  chair.  I  sat.  At 
the  end  of  every  sentence  he  looked  me  over  from 
head  to  heel,  and  saw,  reflected  in  my  steadfast 
pupils,  a  broad,  athletic,  gamekeeper-looking  frame, 
not  much  above  the  middle  height,  and  small,  sus- 
picious, grey-green  eyes  set  in  a  shaven  face  all  cut 
and  crimsoned  by  polar  snow  and  African  sun.  In 
spite  of  the  chilly  evening,  he  wore  no  jacket ;  but 
round  his  head  was  twisted  a  speckled  kerchief,  re- 
vealing, above  the  neck  and  ear,  a  few  dark,  l)ristly 
hairs  beginning  to  tinge  with  dirtv  silver. 

When  he  had  reached  his  master's  riibnca — the 
fanciful  device  with  which  the  law  of  Spain  compels  all 
citizens  to  end  their  autograph — he  folded  the  letter, 
secreted  it,  as  though  it  had  possessed  the  virtues  of  a 
banknote,  in  an  inner  pocket  of  his  waistcoat,  and  gave 
me  his  hand.  This  was  on  Monday,  October  ^6th, 
1903.  After  a  moment's  pause,  he  asked  me  if  the 
Boer  war  were  ended. 

I  said  it  was. 

"  That  war  cost  England  a  pretty  penny,""  he  re- 
marked deliberately  and  (as  it  seemed)  contentedly. 

"  Yes,"  I  blandly  assented  ;  "  and  there  are  more 
and  prettier  pennies  whei-e  that  j:)enny  came  from." 

He  first  described  a  downward  jerk  with  his  head — 
equivalent  to  semi-acquiescence — and  then  cocked  it 

81  F 


(3l•t^na^a 

on  one  side,  meani  ng  to  say,  "  ^Vho  knows  P  Even  the 
damned  ingleses  may  some  day  have  to  work  in  a 
cortijo.'''' 

Presently  his  family  and  the  farm-hands  all  came 
trooping  into  supper  ;  the  gunrda.'i  wife  and  daughters 
three,  besides  about  a  dozen  men  and  boys,  miser- 
ably clad,  miserably  cold,  miserably  resigned.  The 
puchero  was  dragged  from  the  fire  into  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  and  clutching  each  a  pewter  spoon, 
the  party  crouched  around.  The  same  dish  served 
them  all,  and  for  many  minutes  there  was  no  move- 
ment but  the  rhythmical  plunging  of  the  spoons, 
no  sound  but  the  rhythmical  .slop,  slop,  as  the  semi- 
solid mass  was  thrust  into  the  eaters'  mouths.  A 
taciturn  lot  they  were,  doubtless  from  necessity  rather 
than  from  inclination,  for  what  have  they  to  talk 
about  ?  Even  the  women  weie  silent.  The  guarda 
with  an  air  of  rude  authority  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
floor  (of  course  I  was  about  to  say  table,  when 
I  remembered  that  there  was  none) ;  and  soon, 
standing  before  the  fire  to  dry  my  steaming  clothes, 
I  put  him  some  (questions  respecting  the  life  and 
business  of  the  farm.  The  former  is  truly  patri- 
archal. Here  there  is  health  because  there  is  no 
doctor ;  innocence,  because  there  is  no  priest.  But 
work  and  weather  are  severe.  The  produce  of  their 
toil  is  corn,  potatoes,  haricot-beans,  g-arbanzos,  and 
maize.  All  this  goes  down  to  be  sold  in  the  city, 
excepting  the  maize,  the  husk  of  which  makes  fodder 
for  the  cows,  while  the  grain  is  mashed  and  given  to 
the  pigs.  These  are  the  highest-prized  and  best 
attended-to    of  all    the   live  stock,  since  the  Sierra 

82 


•H  Coi-tijo  in  tbc  Siena 

Nevatla  is  famous  for  its  breed  of  tliem,  and  the 
hams  of  Trevelez,  on  the  Alpujarra  side,  are  noted 
throughout  the  whole  of  Andahisia. 

After  the  modest  meal  was  ended,  the  ladies  with- 
drew to  scour  the  dishes  and  spoons,  and  the  men» 
instead  of  telling'  ribald  stories — so  inveterate  a  use 
with  civilized  and  Christian  gentlemen  who  live  on 
lower  elevations — began  to  })eel  the  maize,  tossing  the 
cobs  in  one  heap,  and  the  grain  in  another.  This 
was  the  signal  for  a  microscopic,  bandy-legged  table 
to  be  fished  out  somewhere  from  u})stairs  and  thrust 
into  a  corner  of  the  hearth  ;  my  guide  appeared  from 
feeding  the  horses  and  unloading  the  capacho.s;  loaded 
the  microscopic  table,  and  down  we  sat.  And  while 
the  good  things  disappeared  apace,  the  well-cooked 
veal  and  sausage,  the  brandy  and  the  wine,  the  cort't- 
jerofi  went  on  working,  ever  working,  tossing  the  cobs 
in  one  heap,  and  the  grain  in  another ;  and  stealing 
from  time  to  time  (though  always  without  desisting 
from  their  task)  a  sidelong,  horrible,  painful,  patient 
glance  at  the  tempting  table  of  the  senorivo. 

My  bedroom,  to  which  my  host  conducted  me^ 
was  in  the  granary.  The  floor  was  piled  with  grain 
above  the  level  of  a  tall  man's  head  ;  but  in  the 
corner  next  the  door  a  hole  was  scooped,  and  in  the 
hole  I  found  my  couch  made  ready,  two  sacks  of 
maize,  a  small  straw  palliasse,  a  pillow,  and  a  blanket. 
'I  sank  to  rest,  or  rather,  with  the  intention  of  resting. 
Not  so  the  fleas,  and  hopeless  of  driving  off'  those 
desperate  and  clearly  anti-vegetarian  battalions,  I 
lifted  my  wearv  limbs,  or  what  was  left  of  them, 
and  dozed  in  a  sitting  position  on  the  grain.     Rats,. 

85 


too,  kept  lirushing  against  my  legs,  or  chattered  and 
squabbled   in    my  very  ear.     At  length,  when  quite 
three  hours  must  have  dragged  away,  I  saw  a  light 
and  heard    a  step    outside  the    door.     One    of   the 
herdsmen   was   going  downstairs  to  feed  the  cattle, 
and  wrapjjing  my  blanket  round  my  frozen  shoulders 
I  followed  him.     The  hour  was  only  one.     There,  in 
the  faint   light  of  the    embers,  and   each  of  them 
enveloped  iu  his   mania,  the  slaves  were  fast  asleep  ; 
for    the    master   and    his    wife  and   daughters  slept 
upstairs.     There,  too,  a-sprawl  among  the  rest,  his 
head  artistically  wrapped  in  a  scarlet  handkerchief, 
was  Pincho.     I  asked   the   herdsman  who  preceded 
me  downstairs    how    long    he  had  re])osed.     "  Two 
hours,"  he  said  ;   "  I  go   to  bed  at  eleven."     Then, 
noticing   amazement    on    my    face,    he    added,    "  O 
senorito.  it's  a  hard  life :  even  the  beasts  fare  better." 
The  giiarda,    to    do    him    justice,    was    also    up 
betimes,  and  swearing  at  the  slugabeds  for  slumber- 
ing after  three.     As  for  myself,    I    drew    the    bolt 
of   the    cortijo  door  and     looked    into    the    night. 
The    lesser   summits,    crowned    with    leaden    cloud, 
shot  up  their  angry  crests   on  every  side  save  one. 
Upon  this  side  alone  the  sky  was  stormless  and  serene. 
Just  in  the    middle    of   the    infinitely    pale  yet  in- 
finitely   lumhious    ether,   a    single    star    was    burn- 
ing ;  and  lit  by  the  lamplike  glitter  of  the  star,  and 
pillowed   in    new-shaken    snow,   rested    the    ageless 
features  of  imperial  Xolair. 


84 


The  Sun  Rising  on  the  Peak  of  the  Veleta 


VI 

The  Summit  of  Xolair 
LITTLE  before  the  break  of  day  we 
saddled  and  set  oat  on  our  aerial  voy- 
age, for  overnight  our  goal  had  ])een  a 
human  habitation  ;  but  now  our  cjuest 
was  undeniably  towards  the  sun  and 
stars.  At  first  the  path  itself  was  indistinguishable, 
though  Pincho  knew  it  to  ascend  between  two  files  of 
Cyclopean  boulders  protruding  violet-black  against  the 
Nile-green  sky  ;  so  that  the  landniarks  guided  us,  and 
not  the  road.  x\n  hour  of  zigzag  clauibering  brought 
us  perpendicularly  over  the  cort}jo,uo\\'  visible  enough. 
Nobody  was  yet  astir.  The  roof  was  like  an  open 
book,  back  upwards,  bound  in  dingy,  salnH)n  coloured 
cloth;  the  threshing-floor  beside  it  like  a  finger-ring. 
Browning  recurred  to  me  at  once  ;  but  round  about 
both  book  and  ring  was  cast  a  rosary  of  trees. 

85 


Oralla^a 

The  heavens  grew   lighter   and  shed    then-  light 
iijion  the  earth.    I  now  was  able  to  contrast  the  Alps 
of  Switzerland  with  these  of  Spain.      AVe  entered 
upon  a  region  sparsely  overgrown  with  pigmy  oaks, 
unpleasant  to  the  eye,  at  once  decrepit  and  impuberal. 
Despite,  or  possibly  by  reason  of,  their  presence,  naked- 
ness and  wildness  were  the  prevalent  features  of  the 
scene.     The    peaks   of   Switzerland  have    commonly 
a  certain  trimness.    Villages  reside  beneath  their  pre- 
cipices or  in  their  interjacent    valleys.     Sometimes 
a  great  hotel  is  perched  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
their  top.     The  pines,  too,  have  an  orderly,  Noah's- 
arky  look.     Upon  the  other  hand,  the  mountain  oak 
is    sinister,    unkempt,    disreputable.       Besides,    the 
Spanish  range  conveys  a  wider  sense  of  atmosphere, 
due  partly  to  the  vaster  intervals  from  peak  to  peak, 
and   partly  to  the   ex(iuisite   clearness  of  the  An- 
dalusian    air.      Other,  though    slighter,    causes    are 
the  lack  of  vegetation  and  the  nearness  of  the  sea. 
When  Dr.  \'on  Drasch  examined  the  Sierra  to  pre- 
pare his  geological  report  upon  this  region,  its  over- 
whelming barrenness   impressed    him   very   forcibly. 
'•It  would  seem,"  he  said,  "as  though  Phoenicians, 
Romans,  Visigoths,  and  Moors  had  here  concerted  to 
uproot  all  vegetable  life."     Dark  indeed  is  the  his- 
tory attaching  to  these  mountains.     From  the  earliest 
time  the  shadow,  not  of  the  goatherd's  staff,  but  of 
the    sword,    })rojects    across    their    boundary.      His- 
torians have   recorded   that  the  ancient  dwellers  in 
this  Moiis  Solorhis  *  of  the    Romans    were    ever   a 

■^  According  to    Saint    Isidore   [Etymologies,   Book   xiv.  ch.  8) 
Solorius  is  from  sol  oricns,  corrupted  by  the  Granadinos  into  sol  y 

m 


Zbc  Summit  of  I'olaiv 

troublesome  and  wuilike  race,  j)artaking-  of  the  spirit 
and  complexion  of  tliese  angry  fastnesses.  The 
•same  state  of  things  continued  beneath  the  Muslim 
rule.  According  to  the  Arab  Ben-Ketib-Alsalami, 
there  rose  a  certain  desperado,  Suar-Hamboun  el 
Kaisi,  who  styled  himself  "  the  King  of  the  Moun- 
tains of  Xolair,"  and  built  innumerable  castles  in 
the  Alpujarra,  until  a  body  of  the  Caliph's  troops  sur- 
rounded and  decapitated  him.  Law-abiding  persons, 
whether  Mussulman  or  Christian,  spoke  of  the  grim 
Sierra  with  alarm.  A  thirteenth-century  geographer, 
who  calls  it  "  the  mighty  ^Mountain  of  Siler  "  {C/icHr- 
el-TedJ),  observed  that  "it  is  never  free  from  snow 
the  whole  year  through.  Therein  the  snow  is  heaped 
for  ten  years  at  a  time,  looking  like  black  stones,  and 
when  thev  break  it  the  white  snow  lies  beneath.* 
Oil  top  of  the  mountain  no  herb  mav  thrive  or 
animal  exist,  by  reason  of  the  cold  ;  but  further 
down  are  many  fertile  villages.  Five  and  twenty 
rivers  have  their  source  upon  this  mountain,  nine  of 
which  join  current  with  the  Guadalquivir.     Nobody 

aire,  i.e.  the  Mountains  of  the  Sun  ami  Air :  Arabic  Xolair,  Xuleyr, 
or  Che'ot'l  Ats-salech.  Edrisi  said  of  this  range  that  '"it  has  many 
castles  on  its  slopes,  and  one  is  Hisn-Farira,  from  which  the 
nuts  are  named."  Farira,  if  Conde  may  be  credited,  was  latterly 
Ferreyra,  in  the  jurisdiction  of  Guadix. 

*  The  contrary  is  really  what  occurs.  "A  deep  hollow  sur- 
rounded by  high  ridges  is  called  in  the  Sierra  Nevada  a  corral. 
Owing  to  the  shape  of  the  Sierra  these  corrales  are  numerous. 
In  them  the  snow  accumulates  and  grows  as  hard  as  marble,  so 
that  it  is  difficult  to  scratch  it  even  slightly  with  the  toughest, 
sharpest  tool.  It  forms  a  series  of  layers  varying  in  shade, 
according  to  the  time  that  it  has  lain,  from  black  beneath  to 
white  upon  the  surface.  "^ — Rubio,  Del  Mar  al  Cielo,  p.  354. 

87 


(Bra  nab  a 

may  climb  to  the  peak  unless  at  midsummer,  and 
there  are  found  a  great  variety  of  virtuous  herbs ; 
but  the  ascent  can  only  be  made  from  three  spots. 
Those  who  reach  the  top  descry  to  a  vast  distance, 
even  to  Tlemcen,  albeit  they  abide  in  peril  of  the 
cold." 

Thus  have  the  height  and  steepness  of  the  Sierra, 
its  uninhabited  character,  and  the  horrid  deeds  com- 
mitted in  the  war  with  the  Moriscos,  combined  to 
give  it  a  strange  and  sinister  report  at  everv  period 
of  the  past.  "  Cette grande  montag'ne^''  wrote  Bertaut 
de  Rouen,  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  "  qui  est 
couverte  de  nelge  en  tout  temps,  et  qui  Vestoit  alors 
qtCil  falsoH  encore  nn  fort  grand  chaud,  est  d  cinq 
lieiies  de  la  Ville  de  Grenade  ;  et  ainsi  on  pent  dire  qu'elle 
en  a  plus  de  cinq  ou  six  de  haut :  car  depuis  la  Ville 
on  monte  tonjours  pour  y  alter.''''  Truly  a  novel  system 
for  measuring  the  heights  of  mountains  ! 

Wondrous  and  weird  tales,  then,  have  gone  abroad 
concerning  the  lakes  and  caverns,  the  peaks  and 
precipices  of  Xolair.  Its  loftiest  summit  bears  the 
title  of  BoabdiTs  sire,  precipitator  of  the  downfall  of 
Granada,  the  warlike  and  ill-fated  Muley  Hacen, 
whose  spirit  is  rumoured  by  the  villagers  of  the  Alpu- 
jarra  to  hover  nightly  round  his  gelid  and  enormous 
cenotaph.  Next  to  the  ominous  crest  of  Mulhacen, 
and  on  the  southern  side  of  it,  upsoars  the  vast 
Picacho  del  Veleta,  not,  as  Ford  declared,  a  cone, 
but  perpendicular  at  one  extremity,  in  token  of  some 
appalling  landslip  infinitely  long  ago.  Millions  upon 
millions  of  tons  of  slate  and  granite  must  have 
whirled  through  space  onto  the  crags  below  ;  millions 

88 


Zbc  Summit  of  Jo  I  air 

upon  millions  of  years  since  then  have  covered  up 
the  giant  debris  w  ith  millions  upon  millions  of  tons 
of  snow. 

Viewed  from  Granada,  the  precipice  of  the  N'eleta 
seems  measurable  by  inches.  Viewed  from  a  moderate 
distance,  such  as  six  or  seven  miles,  it  gives  to  the 
Picacho  the  aspect  of  a  coffin  large  enough  to  hold 
the  bones  of  all  humanity  from  the  Deluge  onward. 
In  the  colossal  cleft  between  Mulhacen  and  the 
Veleta  nestles  a  lake,  that  of  Vacares,  in  which,  if 
fame  says  true,  an  old-time  handet  rots  entombed 
for  all  eternitv,  plunged  by  an  avalanche  beneath 
the  fathomless,  unnaturally  noiseless  water,  and 
overshadowed  by  the  monster  spires.  Bertaut  de 
Rouen  had  also  heard  of  this  laguna.  "'"An  phis 
haut  de  cette  montagne^  il  y  a  lui  fort  grand  Lac 
dcmt  on  conte  mesme  des  prodiges ;  car  on  d'lt  qiion 
ny  s^anroit  troiiver  de  fond,  et  apparemment  cest  de- 
la  et  de  la  quantite  de  neiges  fondues  qui  iy  ramas- 
sent,  qui  v'lennent  les  deux  rivieres  du  Darro  et 
du  Xenil,  quoy  que  Teau  en  so'it  iViine  nature  fort 
dijf'erente  ;  car  on  ni'avoit  d'lt  a  Madrid  que  Teau  du 
Xenil  estoit  mortellc.  Je  trouvay  Id  seulement  quelle 
donnoit  dcs  fliuv  et  des  maux  d'cstomac  a  ceux  qui  ny 
estoient  pas  accoi'itumez.  Et  ce  nest  pas  nicrvcillc,  car 
cest  de  lean  de  neige  toute  pure.'''' 

Over  these  mountains,  therefore,  legentl  and 
superstition  hold  a  potent  sway.  Now  we  are  told 
of  buried  treasure,  heavier  and  richer  than  all 
the  hort  of  all  the  Nibelungs  ;  or  now  of  a  troop 
of  phantom  soldiery  ;  now  of  a  hermit,  frozen  in 
his  sterile  cell  ;  now  of  the  "  soul  in  sorrow "  of  a 

89 


CBrauaJa 

monarch,  or  a  miser,  or  a  murderer.  "  A  shepherd 
was  tending  liis  flock  by  the  side  of  the  lake,  and 
there  came  two  men  in  strange  dress,  one  holding 
an  ojoen  book,  and  the  other  a  fishing-net.  And 
the  man  read  from  his  book,  and  said,  '  Cast  the 
net.'  And  he  cast  it,  and  drew  up  a  black  horse. 
And  he  with  the  book  said,  '  This  is  not  it  ;  cast 
again.'  And  he  cast  and  drew  up  a  pied  horse. 
And  he  with  the  book  said,  '  This  is  not  it ;  cast 
again.'  And  he  cast  and  drew  up  a  white  horse. 
And  he  with  the  book  said,  'This  is  it.'  And  they 
both  mounted  on  the  white  horse  and  rode  away,  and 
the  shepherd  saw  them  no  more." 

"These  shepherds  believe  that  some  day  the  lake 
will  burst  through  the  mountain  and  destroy  Granada. 
One  night  a  shepherd  stantling  by  the  lake  heard  a 
voice  say — 

'  Shall  I  strike  and  break  the  dike? 
Shall  I  drown  Granada  town  ?  ' 

And  another  voice  answered,  '  Not  yet.' " 

This  tale  is  taken  from  Ga::pacho,  one  of  the 
extremely  few  sensible  non-Spanish  books  on  Spain 
written  about  the  middle  of  last  century.  Fifteen  or 
twenty  years  before,  the  anonymous  author  of  ^ 
Summer  in  Andalucia  repeated  an  absurd  belief  that 
Mulhacen  was  inaccessible  ;  and  earlier  still,  in  1799, 
the  Spanish  Government  defrayed  the  expenses  of 
a  costly  expedition  to  recover  a  ]\Iorisco  treasure 
rumoured  to  be  buried  in  the  Barranco  de  Guarnon. 
Lawyers  and  labourers  and  clerks  were  all  despatched 
to  this  ravine,  a  lonesome  spot,  secluded  from  the 
usual   track   of    passengers ;    and  the    story    of  the 

90 


Zbc  Summit  of  Jo  lair 
methodicalthough   silly  search  ivads  nowadays  like 
some  romance  of  the  West  Indian  main. 

In  course  of  time  we  crossed  the  Trados  del  Aire, 
or  "Meadows  of  the  Air."  I  need  not  add  that 
"meadows"  is  here  a  term  completely  fanciful. 
Before  us  were  mighty  wastes  ascending  ever,  co\ered 
for  miles  with  those  decrepit  oaks  or  scanty  shrubs, 
spinose  and  tempest-broken.  But  I  was  compensated 
from  another  quartei-.  The  day  was  dawning-  fast. 
A  singular  effect  of  broadness  grew  into  the  sky. 
The  eyes  of  Nature  seemed  to  open  and  her  breast  to 
throl).  In  these  high  parts  the  clearest  heaven,  as 
daybreak  blushes  forth  in  maiden  promise  of 
approach,  assumes  an  ugly  ashen  tone,  a  crude,  inert 
(hstemper,  priming  the  skyey  dome  as  though  to 
make  it  ready  for  the  myriad  shades  of  morning. 
Then,  as  these  last  appear,  the  Nile-green  of  the 
waning  night,  and  afterwards  that  lifeless  and  }n-e- 
paratory  grey,  are  superseded,  first  by  pearly  white, 
then  gold,  then  rose,  and  lastly  blue.  Each  of  these 
colours,  advancing  through  innumerable  gradations 
from  pallor  to  obscurity,  occasions,  as  it  overlaps  its 
predecessor,  another  nuiltitude  of  confluent  and 
complementary  hues,  namelessly  beautiful,  alluring 
rather  to  the  soul  than  to  the  senses.  From  j)atient 
watching  I  have  learned  by  heart,  though  not  by 
memory,  the  order  of  their  rotation.  I  can  even 
imao-e  them  as  I  write  :  but  I  cannot  describe  them. 
I  console  myself  with  thinking  that  nobody  could 
describe  them. 

The  Sierra  soon  became  as  marvellous  as  the  sky. 
N'allevs    and    chines    grew    more  and    more    distin- 

91 


©l•ana^a 

guishable;  at  first  about  their  silhouetted  edges 
only  :  then  troops  of  riant  sunbeams  peered  into 
their  tenebrose  recesses  until  the  cold  earth,  meeting 
their  mild  regard,  seemed  to  be  smiling  back,  at 
them.  Hard-featured  juts,  and  pinnacles,  and  crags, 
as  old  as  night  herself,  grew  flushed  with  exquisite 
and  tender  sanguine,  displaying  their  golden  neck- 
laces of  lichen  or  brooches  of  rare  saxifrage,  with  as 
it  were  the  guileless  vanity  of  girlhood.  Even  the 
oak-boles  seemed  to  expand  their  crooked  arms,  and 
deck  their  wrinkles  in  a  younger  and  more  lustrous 
foliage. 

Now  and  again  thin  wreaths  of  mist,  like  whiffs 
from  a  giant's  pipe,  scurried  across  our  faces,  until 
we  left  that  mist  behind  us  and  below.  Near  the 
Penon  de  San  Francisco,  a  ridge  of  gaunt  black  cliffs, 
we  came  upon  the  earliest  snows,  resembling  lumps 
of  cuckoo-spit,  capping  the  scrubby  herbage.  As  we 
advanced,  the  lumps  grew  more  profuse,  until  the 
landscape  mimicked  with  astonishing  truth  the 
aspect  of  a  gale  at  sea — of  grey-green  waters  flecked 
with  streaks  of  foam  ;  and  finally,  a  couple  of  miles 
beyond,  all  was  white  except  where  peaks  or  boulders 
broke  the  surface. 

The  air  grew  steadily  colder,  the  snow  deeper,  the 
Picacho  larger.  Between  the  mountain  and  ourselves 
extended  an  immense  barranca,  so  that  our  course 
was  not  direct  but  semicircular.  Black  and  white, 
to  right  and  left,  above  us  and  beneath,  the  fields  of 
the  Sierra,  scarred  or  dimpled  here  and  there  with 
hollows  and  ravines.  Fringing  the  eastern  sky  a 
jagged  range  of  spiring  sunnnits,  haloed  with  blazing 

92 


"Cbc  Summit  of  I'olair 


sun,  siift'iised  w  ith  saffron  s|)leii(l()iir.  Awav  into  the 
west  tlie  Vega  of  Granada,  lier  whelkv  lands  not  all 
unmufffcd   from    the   hrunie  ;    liei-   niotclike  cottaEfes 


The  Lake  of  the  Mares 

and  houses  ;  her  ruddy  walls  and  towers  ;  her  files  of 
feathery  cypress;  her  sugar  factory  with  its  cream v 
smoke  etherealized  by  distance  into  creamier 
vapour. 

Deeper  and  deeper  grew  the  snow.  Our  animals, 
pastern-deep,  began  to  flag  and  sometimes  floundered 
on  the  border  of  a  drift ;  but  there  was  the  Picacho, 
loftier  and  larger  by  degrees.  Another  hour  should 
bring  me  to  his  footstool.  While  this  eternity  elapsed, 
I  marked  the  spiky  barrier  that  confronted  us ;  for 
by  this  time  we  had  described  the  sweeping  semicircle. 
Our  road  lay  right  ahead,  over  a  score  or  so  of  steep 
and  large  inclines,  with  dangerous  pits  between  :  but 
Pincho  knew  these  well.      The  l^icacho  now  was  on 

9J3 


Oiana&a 


the  left,  the  barrier  stretching  many  a  mile  upon  his 
right  and  capped  with  many  a  lofty  and  fantastic 
pinnacle.  The  most  remarkable  and  human-shaped 
of  these  is  called,  ingeniously  enough,  the  Friar  of 
Capileira. 

A  little  further  on,  beneath  the  actual  shadow 
of  the  barrier,  a  lake  lies  bosomed  in  a  snowy, 
silent  cavity  of  the  mountains.  This  is  the  "  Mare's 
Lake,"'  or  Laguna  de  las  Yeguas,  about  a  hundred 
yards  in  length  by  thirty  broad.  Its  edge  was 
frozen  at  this  time  of  year,  bat  Pincho,  dropping 
on  his  knees  beside  the  ice,  contrived  to  drink 
extravagantly.  Spaniards  are  mighty  quafFers  and 
connoisseurs  of  water :  in  fact,  comparing  the  two 
nations,  I  have  noticed  that  on  discovering  a  stream 
or  pond  the  tendency  of  the  Englishman  is  to  get 
inside  if  ,•  the  tendency  of  the  Spaniard,  to  get  it 
inside  h'nii.  Where  one  laves,  the  other  laps.  "  In 
the  matter  of  water-drinking,"  said  Ganivet,  "we 
know  no  rivals  on  the  globe  "  ;  and  again,  "  with  my 
compatriots  thirst  becomes  an  appetite.  Some, 
imbibing  water,  imagine  themselves  to  be  eating- 
food."  On  this  account  Pincho  related  to  me  with  a 
wry  face  how  several  months  before  two  English 
army  officers  whom  he  was  guiding  had  stripped  and 
plunged  into  this  lake  head  foremost.  Did  they  not 
drink  it  also,  I  inquired.  "  No,  Senorito,"  was  the 
disgusted  return ;  "  you  see  they  brought  a  dozen 
bottles  of  a  whitish  kind  of  brandy." 

We  lunched  beside  the  lake — some  slices  of  cold 
sausage,  bread,  and  snow-water.  The  air,  though 
sharp,  was  not  uncomfortably  cold,  and  stimulated 

94- 


Z\ic  Summit  of  Volair 

hunger  raix-ly.  We  wished  our  pockets  had  con- 
tained more  fare;  hut  then  we  (|uite  expected 
to  be  hack  at  the  C'ortijo  hefore  nightfalL  Even 
our  store  of  cigarettes  had  stayed  behind.  There- 
fore, as  soon  as  our  scanty  meal  was  swallowed,  even 
to  the  crumbs,  we  left  the  patient  horses  without 
tethering  them,  and  set  upon  the  final  stretch  of  the 
Veleta,  whose  prodigious  mass  shoots  heavenward 
from  close  beside  the  border  of  the  mere.  Towards 
its  top  the  mountain  is  shaken  together  of  loose  and 
slippery  laminas  of  slate  ;  and  the  snow,  new-fallen 
though  thawing  rapidly  beneath  the  noonday  sun, 
would  reach  my  hip  at  least  one  step  in  every  three. 
Our  going,  in  fact,  was  mainly  guesswork,  aggravated 
by  the  portage  of  my  cameras.  In  this  way,  with 
distracting  slow  ness,  we  covered  a  thousand  or  fifteen 
hundred  feet,  until  the  horses  dwindled  into  specks 
against  the  dazzling  snow,  and  even  the  lake  looked 
insignificant  and  puny.  Beneath  us  now  I  spied  the 
Friar  of  Capileira,  silent,  white-hooded,  like  a  good 
Carthusian,  slanting  his  head  upon  the  platelike 
surface  of  the  water,  as  though  to  nunnble  grace 
before  a  meal. 

Suddenly  the  angle  grew  less  steep.  The  last  com- 
ponent slabs  of  the  Picacho  projected  definitely  into 
space.  A  wind  of  terrific  violence  and  impact, 
piercingly  cold  besides,  issuing  from  a  thousand 
places  simultaneously,  was  whirling  round  and 
round  and  beating  up  and  down.  Luckily  the  sky 
was  clear,  save  for  some  glittering  clouds  above  the 
flexuous  horizon  of  Alhama.  I  fancied  them  to  be 
the   spirits  of  departed  mountains,  returning  from 

95 


(3rana^a 

another  universe  to  commune  with  this  new  Sierra. 
Not  Spain  alone,  but  all  the  world  seemed  at  my 
feet.  I  saw  a  dozen  maps  at  once,  life  size  as  Nature's 
pulse  desio;ned  and  coloured  them.  Yonder,  exactly 
on  a  level  with  ourselves,  was  Mulhacen  ;  yonder  the 
Alcazaba  ;  yonder,  upon  the  seaward  side,  the  Cerro 
del  Caballo  and  the  Tajo  de  los  Machos.  And 
then  the  sea  !  Smoothness  and  Huency  in  one,  its 
larger  part  was  pale  cobalt,  its  lesser  part  a  lucid 
mazarine.  Two  mains  join  here  about  a  strip  of 
azure  water  famed  in  history  and  song — 

"  quella  face  stretta, 
Ov'  Ercole  segno  li  stioi  rigiiardi, 
Archioche  I'uom pin  oltre  non  si  metta." 

This  was  enveloping  Gibraltar,  and  enveloped  in  its 
turn  by  African  mountains  warping  south  and  south. 
Right  underneath  the  wastage  of  the  great  Picacho 
the  billowy  Alpujarra,  ran  or  roamed  with  warworn 
slopes,  more  truly  sealike  in  suggestiveness  of  strife 
and  storm  than  ever  the  hushed  and  tranquil  Medi- 
terranean. On  every  side  except  this  last  a  century 
of  variform  Sierras,  some  with  gold  or  ruddy  whins 
upon  their  ample  flank  ;  others  with  red,  or  grey,  or 
tawnv  stone  ;  others,  as  ours,  with  deej),  unsullied 
snow ;  the  ranges  of  Iznalloz  and  Parapanda  ;  the 
Sierras  of  Baza  and  Segura,  Ronda  and  Tejeda, 
Gata,  Sagra,  Lujar,  Cazorla,  Gador,  Huetor,  Alfacar, 
Almijara,  Jarana,  Grazalema,  and  Filabres ;  the 
Sierra  Morena  severing  Andalusia  from  La  Mancha, 
the  vineyards  and  the  corn  from  groves  and  orchards 
in  whose  neighbourhood  the  indolent  Guadalquivir 
absorbs    the    luscious    scent    of   orange-bloom    and 

96 


Zbc  Summit  of  Volair 

almond  ;  the  Pico  del  Lucero  ;  the  C'eno  of  San 
Cristobal ;  the  ^Mountains  of  Kxtreniadura,  Portu- 
gal, Alhania,  Loja,  and  Algarinejo  ;    the  "throats" 


Mulbacen  and  the  Alcazaba  from  the  Summit  of  the  Veleta 

or  passes  of  El  Lobo  and  La  Ragua,  leading,  the 
former  from  the  Alpujarra  to  Guadix,  the  latter 
to  the  villages  included  in  the  ]\Iarquisate  of  the 
Zenete. 

Why  does  distance  please  ?  Hazlitt,  whose  essay  I 
found  mvself  recalling  now,  has  failed  to  state  his 
argument  convincingly,  or  even  clearly.  "  Distant 
objects  please,  because  in  the  first  place  they  imply 
an  act  of  space  and  magnitude,  and  because,  not 
being  obtruded  too  close  upon  the  eye,  we  clothe 
them  with  the  indistinct  and  airy  colours  of  fancy. 
In  looking  at  the  misty  mountain-tops  that  bound 
the  horizon,  the  mind  is,  as  it  were,  conscious  of  all 

97  t; 


(Brana^a 

the  conceivable  objects  and  interests  that  lie  between. 
We  imagine  all  sorts  of  adventures  in  the  interim  ; 
strain  our  hopes  and  wishes  to  reach  the  air-drawn 
circle,  or  to  '  descry  new  lands,  rivers,  and  moun- 
tains,"' stretching  far  beyond  it  :  our  feelings,  carried 
out  of  themselves,  lose  their  grossness  and  their  husk, 
are  rarefied,  expanded,  melt  into  softness  and  brighten 
into  beauty,  turning  to  ethereal  mould,  skv-  tinctured. 
^Ve  drink  the  air  before  us  and  borrow  a  more  refined 
existence  from  objects  that  hover  on  the  brink  of 
nothing.  Where  the  landscape  fades  from  the  dull 
sight  we  fill  the  thin,  viewless  space  with  shapes  of 
unknown  good,  and  tinge  the  hazy  prospect  with 
hopes  and  wishes  and  more  charming  fears. "' 

This  theory  is  trite  and  superficial.  The  truth  is 
deeper  down.  Our  love  of  distance  is  engendered  in 
our  only  age  of  absolute  optimism,  that  is,  childhood. 
Distant  objects  please  us  now  because  thev  bring 
with  them  a  reminiscence  of  our  infancy,  when  all  that 
seemed  far  off'  seemed  also  inoffensive.  Nay,  what 
seems  farther  oft'  than  infancv  itself;  and  yet  it 
soothes  and  pleases  us  to  contemplate  its  recollection  .'' 
Childhood,  delicate,  poetic,  unsuspecting,  is  far  more 
se.isitive  to  space  and  magnitude  than  mere  maturity. 
The  hedge  of  the  next  field  looks  to  a  little  child  the 
confine  of  another  universe.  ^Vhat  will  he  think  of 
the  hills  upon  the  far  horizon  ? 

Another  of  Hazlitt's  errors  is  the  following:.  He 
preconceives  that  every  distant  object  must  be  hazy. 
But  here,  upon  the  Sierra  Nevada,  the  farther  oft'  an 
object  is  the  more  intensely  clear  it  looks ;  and  a 
traveller    has    observed,    with    perfect    truth,   that 

9S 


Tbc  Summit  ot  folaii- 

"  nothini^,  however  small,  seems  capable  of  being 
hidden  from  our  view.'" 

Distance  in  landscape  is  almost  alwavs  more  or  less 
connected  with  a  mountain  or  with  mountains.  Moun- 
tains, indeed,  involve  a  double  distance,  perpendicular 
and  horizontal — twin  distances  that  interact  uncjues- 
tionably  to  increase  the  grandeur  of  the  general  mass. 
Then  height,  of  course,  is  irremediably  linked  with 
heaven — a  prettv  though  futile  fiction,  born  with 
our  birth  and  diligently  fostered  by  the  Church. 

On  a  fine  day  in  the  Sierra  Nevada  the  landscape 
never  fades  from  the  dull  sight  bv  reason  of  simple 
distance.  It  disappears  from  very  smallness,  as 
though  we  looked  at  it  beneath  a  microscope  (and 
so  we  virtually  do) ;  but  even  the  farthest  detail  has 
as  vigorous  an  outline  as  the  stone  on  which  I  rest 
my  pocket-book  to  make  this  memorandum. 

Just  as  I  had  jotted  down  the  words,  a  great 
brown  eagle  left  his  cranny  in  the  cliff,  beat  the  aii' 
into  obedience,  and  rested  motionless  between  the 
earth  and  heaven.  His  head  was  turned  towards  us, 
and  he  seemed  to  scrutinize  me  through  and  tlu-ouoh. 
I  felt  a  pang  of  shame.  He  filled  the  vastness  which 
overwhelmed  my  guide  and  me.  His  look  was  that 
of  superhuman  greatness ;  for  the  eagle  sees  further 
than  we  do,  and  soars  higher. 

Two  reasons  why  I  would  consider  him  superior  to 
ourselves. 


99 


A  Snowstorm  Coming-  up  the  Mountains 


VII 

The  Snowstorm 

\Y   it's   all    the    same   to    you,"'    said 
Pincho,  lookinf]^  intently  down  into 
the  west,  "  well  begin  to  get  back.'''' 
I    picked  up    my    cameras,    but 
asked  him  why. 
"  Because    the   weather   up  here  is  very   strange. 
Ifs  not  what  you're  accustomed  to  below.     Some- 
times upon  these  heights  it's  very  crazy.''' 

While  he  spoke  he  still  kept  looking  westwards. 
I  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes.  Beside  the 
spiky  top  of  the  Trevenque,  and  over  the  valley  of 
the  Monachil,  was  a  diminutive  round  white  cloud,  no 
bigger  than  a  puff  of  cannon-smoke.  The  under  })art 
of  it  was  slightly  grey.  Unlike  the  cumulus  resting 
101 


(Srana^a 

delicately  on  the  far  horizon  of  Alhama,  this  cloudlet 
seemed  incapable  of  change,  hanging  with  heavy 
insio-nificance  above  the  snow-fields  and  the  river. 
Pincho  was  right.     Its  very  stagnancy  inspired  alarm, 

AVe  began  the  descent,  springing  from  jut  to  jut 
adown  the  slaty  steeps,  and  covered  two  thousand 
feet  of  breakneck  climbing  in  rather  over  half  an 
hour.  When  we  had  gone  some  distance  I  called  to 
mind  the  prr7)iiere,  in  Madrid,  of  a  comedy  by  one 
of  my  familiar  friends.  This  was  to  be  the  night  ap- 
pointed ;  and  so,  tearing  a  leaf  from  my  sketch-book, 
I  wrote  him  a  telegraphic  message  of  goodwill,  to  be 
transmitted  on  our  arrival  at  Granada,  and  dated  in 
iocular  lan^uao-e  from  thesunnnit  of  these  mountains. 

Then  we  continued.  Underneath  our  toes  the 
pinVhead  lakelet  grew  to  a  blue-black  bead,  next  to 
the  bigness  of  a  hand -mirror,  and  so  by  regular 
degrees  until  we  caught  the  glimmer  of  the  fretted 
ripples,  and  the  mere  was  once  again  life-size.  There 
were  our  scraggy  steeds,  nosing  patiently  and  fruit- 
lessly amid  the  snow,  a  dozen  yards  fiom  where  we 
had  abandoned  them.  As  Pincho  hastily  adjusted 
the  capaihos,  muttering  a  kind  of  mingled  curse  and 
prayer,  I  realized  that  the  storm-cloud  had  swollen 
to  an  alarming  bulk.  By  some  illusory  effect,  which 
doubtless  has  a  simple  scientific  cause,  it  seemed  to 
race  upon,  yet  never  to  come  up  with,  us,  though  all 
around  was  falling  in  its  subtle  grasp.  It  rested  on 
the  water  at  the  further  end  of  the  lake  ;  it  poked 
enormous  fingers  into  the  bowels  and  the  fissures  of 
the  mountain ;  but  where  we  stood  was  free  for  quite 
a  while.     At  length  a  fine  mist  blew  about  our  faces, 

102 


Zbc  Snowstorm 

seeming  to  sprinkle  us,  not  with  drops,  but  clew.  It 
might  have  been  the  fair  serein  of  any  sunnner's  eve. 
IJut  this  did  not  occur  in  sunnner,  nor  was  it  the 
time  of  twilight ;  and  the  mist,  for  all  its  mildness, 
was  the  herald  and  precursor  of  the  snowstorm. 

We  pushed  away,  I  mounted,  Pincho,  the  better 
to  inspect  our  trail,  afoot.  So  far,  our  prints  had 
undertjone  no  change.  No  earthlv  wavfarer  had 
redisturbed  those  virgin  fields  except  a  single  fowl, 
the  frail  concatenation  of  whose  tread  ran  crosswise 
from  our  own.  At  first  we  travelled  very  fairly,  until 
the  mist  began  to  gather  substance  and  snap  asunder 
the  last  shafts  of  the  sun.  Then,  just  for  a  moment, 
I  caught  a  farewell  glimpse  of  the  Picacho,  infinitely 
overhead,  not  motionless  but  seeming  to  upbreak 
above  the  elements,  undiademed  atop,  only  his  massv 
neck  torquated  with  the  storm.  Swiftness  and  majesty 
in  one  he  soared  away.  The  prospect  grew  more 
awful  and  unearthly  every  instant.  Boulders  that 
proved  to  be  within  a  stone's  throw  assumed  a  filmy 
and  fantastic  form  behind  the  dim,  diaphanous  veil 
that  hung  and  scoured  at  once  across  their  jagged 
edges.  Deeper  and  darker,  swifter  and  colder  and 
moister  grew  the  fog.  A  horrible  pain  invaded  all 
mv  limbs,  then  numbness,  more  appalling  still. 
iVIontaigne  declares  that  "  even  to  fear,  courage  is 
required."'  If  this  be  so,  I  was  as  brave  as  anybody 
under  heaven,  for  my  panic  knew  no  bounds.  Nor 
was  I  alone  in  these  emotions.  Pincho,  leading  the 
way,  was  outwardly  composed ;  but  the  horses, 
scrambling  frantically  forward  with  distended  eyes 
and  nostrils,  exhibited  a  pitiful  dismay. 
103 


0rana^a 

I  thouffht  it  better  to  tumble  from  the  saddle  and 
essay  to  walk.  Apart  from  other  adverse  circum- 
stances, each  step  required  at  least  the  toil  of  three. 
First  there  was  the  extraction  of  the  foot  from  the 
snow,  then  the  depth  of  snow  to  be  surmounted, 
and  finally  the  onward  step.  Our  track,  until  it 
merged  into  the  mist,  was  still  distinguishable,  but 
this  was  not  for  long.  Enemies  were  advancing 
upon  us,  as  multitudinous  as  all  the  sands  of  all  the 
seas,  stealthy  and  skilful  in  attack,  themselves  invul- 
nerable, though  ruthless  to  the  vanquished.  A  dozen 
snowflakes  fell  upon  my  sleeve.  I  brushed  them  off, 
vet  before  I  could  raise  my  hand  again,  a  dozen  more 
had  fallen  on  the  back  of  it. 

The  caresses  of  a  well-loved  woman  practised  in 
deceit  are  not  more  subtle,  more  insistent,  more 
insinuating.  Oddly  enough,  a  similar  thought 
occurred  to  Pincho.  Half  turning  round,  he  said, 
"  Estd  amorosa  la  nievey  ("  The  snow  is  amorous.'') 
An  epithet  of  more  than  academic  nicety,  uttered  by 
a  peasant  who  can  neither  read  nor  write.  Such  is 
Andalusia.  How  truly  he  had  drawn  the  character 
of  those  feline  flakes.  Of  course  he  meant  to  say 
that  the  snow  was  soft,  and  treacherous,  and  tender ; 
not  the  vigorous  snow  of  winter,  that  makes  an 
adamantine  pavement  or  pipes  an  honest  warning  ; 
but  the  snow  that  kisses  and  ensnares  in  crafty 
silence,  the  builder  of  false  bridges,  the  fell  con- 
triver of  the  avalanche,  the  amorous  snow  ;  snow 
the  woman  ! 

The  sky  was  like  a  great  grey  sieve  held  up  against 
white  paper.     Largeness  and  confinement  united  in 
104 


"Cbc  Snows toiin 


appalling  comradeship,  the  one  to  smother  us,  the 
other  to  mislead.  The  less  we  could  espv  ahead,  the 
bigger  grew  the  vastness,  the  more  I  felt  to  be 
obliterated  from  my  view ;  in  spite  of  which  one 
strip  of  narrowness  drew  out  into  another,  and  their 
series  seemed  to  have  no  end  in  number  and 
monotony.  The  waste  by  now  had  grown  unpathed. 
Pincho,  I  take  it,  smelt  our  whereabouts  with  the 
instinct  of  a  born  .rcrrano ;  but  twice  or  thrice  we 
plunged  into  a  drift;  at  other  times  the  snow  was 
only  to  our  knee. 

The  next  state  or  stage  into  which  I  fell  is  better 
illustrated  by  another's  words  than  by  my  own. 
"Nature,  having  discovered  me  on  one  side,  had 
covered  me  on  the  other.  Having  disarmed  me  of 
strength,  she  armed  me  witii  insensibilitv,  and  a 
regular  or  soft  apprehension."  Presently  the  "  soft 
apprehension"  yielded  to  none  at  all.  Mv  mind  was 
less  exhausted  than  my  muscles.  I  thought  my  end 
was  both  inevitable  and  immediate ;  and  yet  I  had 
no  fear  of  death,  and  only  very  little  curiosity.  My 
musing  was  chiefly  retrospective,  and  commonplace 
at  that.  My  scruples  of  a  future  state  were  inter- 
ested and  ignoble.  All  of  us  as  Death  appears  in 
the  doorway  are  more  or  less  of  attitudinarians.  I 
have  attended  numberless  deathbeds,  and  always 
found  the  same  misgiving  ;  zchat  will  the  bystanders 
obse?'VC,  and  zchnt  icill  thctj  report  of  us?  Pluck  has 
something  to  do  with  this,  but  vanity  a  great  deal 
more.  We  step  into  our  cerements  with  histrionic 
self-conceit.  Let  me  confess,  then,  with  an  almost 
anti-Christian  candour,  that  I   both  exonerate  and 

105 


(5  V  a  n  a  ^  a 


extol  the  deathbed  attitudinarian,  the  more  especially 
if  he  succeeds  in  demonstrating  that  (judiciously 
employed)  the  final  moment  of  our  lives  is  equal  in 
importance  to  the  sum  of  all  the  rest.  Alonso  Cano 
withdrew  his  wrinkled  lips  from  the  crucifix  because 
it  was  too  ugly.  Byron,  that  protean  votary  of  la 
pose — social,  moral,  literary  and  linguistic — thought 
fit  to  die  in  Greek ;  as  if  a  man  could  ever  speak  a 
foreign  language  as  sincerely  as  his  own.  Each  of 
these  artists  posed  in  what  he  knew.  But  the  arch- 
pnseur  of  all  was  that  illustrious  rogue  of  whom  it  is 
related  that  nothing  in  this  world  became  him  like 
his  leaving  of  it.  This  is  indeed  to  pose  imperish- 
ably. 

I  thought  of  writing  something  valedictory,  but 
naturally  enough  I  could  not  bend  my  fingers.  This 
shows  that  my  intelligence  was  partly  paralysed,  for  it 
oi.ly  dawned  upon  me  very  gradually  that  in  my  pocket 
was  the  telegraphic  message  to  my  friend.  It  pro- 
ceeded to  dawn  upon  me,  furthermore,  that  here  was 
a  perfect,  providential  pose.  Night  and  death  were 
joining  hands  to  overwhelm  me.  I  smiled  at  them. 
A  search-party,  or  if  not  this,  the  earliest  visitors 
together  with  the  following  spring,  would  drag  my 
unhouseled  bones  to  light,  and  in  the  pocket  of  my 
corduroy  coat — my  telegraphic  message  to  my  friend. 
What  w^ould  they  say  ?  Why,  what  an  admirable 
cynicism  in  the  very  grasp  of  death — to  scribble  a 
facetious  telegram  and  make  no  mention  of  that 
sinister  embrace.  I  felt  a  kind  of  monstrous  satis- 
faction. After  all,  an  idle  chance  contributed  to  my 
renown.     With  this  my  mind  grew  quite  at  rest.     I 

106 


"Cbc  Snowstorm 

sunk  into  the  snow  with  ahsohitc  contentment. 
"Leave  me*"  (I  think  I  cried).  "Give  me  mv 
blanket  and  leave  nie.  To-morrow  I  will  follow  you  ; 
vuiuanii^  muHuna.''''  My  utterance  seemed  thick  and 
inarticulate,  as  though  I  were  aniesthetized.  Pincho 
was  at  my  side.  "  Senorito,'""  he  shouted,  "get  up  ; 
for  God's  sake  get  up." 

I  felt  that  to  rise  was  the  easiest  task  in  all  the 
world,  yet  not  a  limb  would  stir.  So  Pincho 
dragged  me  up  and  beat  me  brutally  about  the 
head  and  face.  One  of  his  blows  hurt.  It  struck 
me  on  the  temple,  where  I  suppose  a  fragment 
of  existence  still  remained.  The  pain,  as  hot  as 
scalding  water,  appeared  to  trickle  down  me;  and 
as  I  tried  to  step,  once  more  my  boots  went  forward. 
So  that  my  legs  were  hitherto  my  own.  My  will, 
together  with  all  its  furniture  and  gimcracks,  was 
evidently  Pincho's.  Where  now  was  all  my  Latin 
and  Greek,  my  history,  my  Christianity,  and  so 
forth .? 

There  is  no  word  in  the  English  language  to 
indicate  my  manner  of  making  progress.  I  did  not 
tramp  or  plod,  for  tramj)ing  and  plodiling  imply  a 
definite  fatigue;  but  here  all  sense  of  feeling  had 
worn  itself  away.  Of  course  my  strength  was  ebbing, 
and  vet  1  knew  no  strain.  There  may  have  been 
exertion  in  the  snow  which  bound  my  limbs,  or  in 
the  cold  which  petrified  them  ;  but  in  myself  I  was 
aware  of  none. 

The  rest  of  what  befell  was  subsequently  told  me 
by  my  guide.  It  seems  that  after  several  hours  of 
this  unequal  combat  the  dangerous  zone  was  over- 

107 


passed,  the  cold  grew  bearable,  and  sheets  of  snow 
gave  place  to  sheets  of  water.  Pincho  and  the  horses 
were  nearly  dead ;  I  was  completely  so.  I  have  a 
notion,  infinitely  slight,  of  walking,  rolling,  or  being 
pushed  or  carried  down  a  sticky  bank,  and  then 
being  thrust  towards  a  shadowy  mound,  which 
proved  to  be  a  goatherd's  hut,  deserted,  the  highest 
in  the  whole  Sierra.  Although  I  thought  myself 
upon  the  other  side  of  death,  this  spurred  me  to  a 
last  galvanic  effort  and  I  stood.  An  instant  after- 
wards nature  surrendered  me  for  good  and  all,  body 
and  brain  and  soul,  a  chattel  propped  on  end,  with- 
out volition  to  conceive  or  strength  to  execute ; 
until,  deposited  by  Pincho  or  by  chance  before  the 
cavelike  entrance  to  the  hovel,  I  dropped,  as  lifeless 
as  a  log,  across  that  unexpected  threshold. 


108 


A  Wild  Scene  in  the  Sierra  Nevada 


Mil 


Revival 


,HEN  I  awoke,  or  came  again  to  life,  I 
found  myself  upon  a  sodden,  earthen 
floor,  with  water  trickling  from  above 
into  my  nostrils,  eyes,  and  mouth  (for 
I  was  gasping  hard).  The  horses, 
fellow  inmates  of  our  shelter,  were  munching  some 
mysterious  fodder  (it  proved  to  be  the  cabin  roof), 
and  I  could  hear  their  hoofs  gyrate  within  some  inches 
of  my  head.  Finding  my  voice  forthwith,  I  called 
to  Pincho,  who  dejectedly  returned  my  salutation 
and  struck  a  match.  Before  it  burnt  away  I  sat  up 
and  volunteered  to  help,  ashamed  of  all  my  past 
inaction.  What  could  I  help  in  ?  I  was  told,  in 
makinir  a  li<rht  and  warmth  that  should  endure.  The 
roof  of  the  cabin,  I  repeat,  was  thatched  inside  with 
109 


5l•ana^a 


straw,  and  Pincho's  box  of  matches  was  nearly  full ; 
so  pulling  part  of  the  roof  to  pieces,  while  the  horses 
gobbled  the  remainder,  we  kindled  simultaneously  a 
fire  and  a  lamp,  feeding  the  blaze  by  turns,  about  ten 
minutes  at  a  time. 

The  hours  wore  on,  yet  failed  to  stay  the  deluge. 
What  a  rain  !  I  do  believe  it  tumbled  down  in 
thick,  unbroken  cords,  not  strings  of  drops,  or  drops. 
As  for  the  tediousness,  all  the  nights  of  the  year,  or 
many  years,  seemed  to  have  joined  together,  like  the 
rain,  in  one  interminable  cable  ;  and  when  I  looked 
back  upon  the  snowstorm,  I  almost  fancied  it  some 
faint  adventure  of  my  childhood,  descried  imperfectly 
along  the  avenues  of  time.  Hunger,  and  weariness, 
and  ^^eakness,  all  were  here ;  terrible  antagonists 
for  two  exanimate  men.  One  comforting  dis- 
covery we  made,  but  only  one.  The  day  before 
Pincho  had  stuck  a  cigarette  behind  his  ear,  and  there 
forgotten  it.  We  halved  the  sweet,  small  cylinder 
with  extjuisite  impartiality.  Then  only  did  I  com- 
prehend the  virtues  of  tobacco,  that  nuhilis  herba, 
as  a  picturesque  old  Oxford  poet  justly  titles  it ;  and 
as  I  puffed  bent  forward  to  inhale  the  smoke  anew. 

Yet  even  this  finding  of  the  cigarette  was  coimter- 
balanced  by  a  fresh  disaster.  Near  the  top  of  the 
hovel  projected  a  large  stone  horizontal  slab,  crown - 
ino;  a  vent  in  the  wall  designed  to  carry  off  the 
smoke.  On  one  occasion  Pincho,  rising  mechanically, 
more  than  half  asleep,  to  feed  the  fire,  dashed  his 
oblivious  brow  full  tilt  against  the  border  of  the  slab, 
causing  a  wound  which  bled  alarmingly,  until  I  dried 
my  handkerchief  and  bound  it  up  as  well  as  I  was 
110 


tvcvival 

able.  So  we  existed  till  the  dawn.  \Vhen  dav  be<ran 
to  show  it  was  no  longer  raining.  The  heavens  had 
wept  themselves  dry  ;  though  still  occasional  drops 
fell  down  in  sullen  protest  at  their  impotence.  Our 
cabin  was  surroimded  by  a  kind  of  bog,  probabl\-  at 
ordinary  .seasons  a  piece  of  cultivable  land,  but  now 
submerged  through  all  its  surface.  Our  feet  came 
up  from  it  encased  in  kilos  of  thick  mire.  Then  we 
dragged  forth  the  beasts  and  set  our  cavalcade  in 
marching  order.  Vet,  when  we  prepared  to  move, 
a  further  trial  was  awaiting  me.  Of  course  I  had 
unshod  myself  the  night  before  :  but  now,  on  picking 
up  my  boots,  I  could  no  more  get  them  on  than  if 
they  had  been  an  infant's;  nor  were  thev  merelv 
shrunk  and  wrinkled,  but,  since  the  fire  had  dried 
them,  of  a  bricklike  hardness.  Luckily  Pincho 
had  brought  in  his  pocket  a  pair  of  military  aljxtr- 
gat<t6- — a  couple  of  slabs  of  rope  with  black  cloth 
strips  to  bind  them  round  the  ankle.  Not  ^lercurv 
himself  could  wish  for  lighter  sandals  ;  so  on  thev 
went  and  off  we  started. 

After  a  spell  of  wretched  ambulation,  wc  struck 
some  rising  ground,  and  shortly  afterwards  a  moun- 
tain path  without  the  surface  water  of  the  level  land, 
and  only  about  shin-deep  in  mire.  .VIong  this  path 
we  plodded.  We  were  in  the  heart  of  the  Sierra;  yet 
no  Sierra  was  visible.  The  mountains  from  top  to  toe 
seemed  wrapped  in  lead-coloured  cotton-wool.  The 
air  was  saturated ;  so  were  \\e  ;  and  the  horses, 
poor  creatures,  kept  vomiting  both  from  skin  and 
nostril  as  thick  a  vapour  as  the  steam-cock  of  a 
locomotive. 

in 


0rana^a 

Presently  a  dirty  urchin  crooning  a  lugubrious 
copla  sprang  up,  as  well  as  I  could  see,  from  nowhere. 
We  took  our  bearings  from  him,  and  since  he 
proved  to  be  going  our  way  to  some  remote  co7'ttjo, 
set  him  before  to  serve  as  cicerone.  That  part  of  our 
peregrination  is  completely  indescribable,  save  by  the 
one  word  zcetness.  We  saw  wetness,  felt  wetness, 
smelt  wetness,  swallowed  wetness.  We  even  heard 
wetness ;  for  the  stunted  bushes,  as  we  brushed  them 
by,  discharged  their  pattering  load  of  moisture.  The 
whole  of  that  spongy  landscape,  with  ourselves  into 
the  bargain,  might  just  have  fallen  into  a  monster 
pail,  and  been  pulled  out  a  dripping  sop. 

After  three  hours  of  this  misery  we  reached  the 
farm.  Its  occupants  were  glad  to  see  us,  or  said  they 
were.  They  also  said  thev  were  surprised  ;  and  of 
the  truth  of  this  there  could  be  no  doubt,  for  we  saw 
it  written  far  beneath  the  level  of  their  faces.  I  think 
at  first  they  took  us  for  spectres,  until  we  called  for 
the  precious  provisions  we  had  recklessly  left  behind 
on  the  preceding  day — coffee  and  cocoa,  biscuits,  and 
bread,  and  brandy,  cold  beef  and  Alpujarra  ham, 
Bologna  sausage  and  tinned  salmon.  Surely  there 
are  definable  and  definite  occasions  (and  this,  I  plead, 
was  one  of  them)  when  gluttony  is  not  only  excusable 
but  praiseworthy. 

AVhen  at  a  sing-le  sittino^  we  had  breakfasted  and 
lunched,  and  "  overtaken  "' — in  Pincho's  phrase — our 
supper  of  the  night  before,  our  limbs  unstiffened 
enough  for  us  to  mount  the  horses,  and  on  we  moved. 
Providence  had  blown  us  out  with  self-importance, 
and  besides,  our  stomachs  were  refreshed.     No  further 

112 


1R  c  V  i  V  a  I 


effort  was  demanded  of  us ;  all  the  rest  was  glorv. 
Therefore  our  talk  for  several  hours  was  in  the  key 
of  mutual  admiration.  Had  we  not  "  })lanted  a 
pike  in  Flanders"  by  scaling  the  Picacho  nearly  in 
November  ?  AVe  spoke,  in  conseciuence,  of  the  vulgar 
herd  of  August  or  September  al])inists  with  lordly 
]ntv  coupled  with  disdain.  Vet  though  we  stretched 
our  exploit  to  the  utmost,  the  danger  out  of  sight 
proved  verilv  a  danger  out  of  mind.  I  always  found 
it  so.  The  times  when  I  have  stood  upon  the  vei-y 
verge  of  death  must  number  (juite  a  score,  and  yet 
they  cause  me,  as  I  turn  the  backward  pages  of  my 
life,  no  more  emotion  than  a  barking  dog.  Does  this, 
I  wonder,  betray  in  me  a  somewhat  strange  resiliency, 
or  do  I  share  it  with  my  fellow  men  ?  At  any  rate, 
I  find  it  at  once  a  source  of  weakness  and  of  power. 
Of  weakness,  because  it  cuts  me  off  from  the  sedate 
vocabularv  maintained  to  be  inalienable  from  those 
so-called  solemn  moments  ;  of  power,  because  it 
seems  to  show  me  that  the  groundwork  of  our  being- 
originates,  if  once  we  elbow  off  the  parson  with  his 
cant,  not  in  pathos  but  in  liumour. 

Throughout  this  cogitation  I  felt  a  growing  desire 
to  contemplate  again  the  great  Picacho  del  Veleta. 
But  no.  The  weather  by  now  had  mended,  and  the 
sun,  like  a  scolded  child  with  traces  of  recent  tears 
across  his  face,  crept  timidly  forth  once  more.  The 
mist  rolled  off  the  bases  of  the  mountains.  Here, 
parallel  to  our  path,  was  the  Trevenque,  and  yonder 
the  Tesoro ;  yet  still  the  emperor-peak  remained 
enveloped  in  invisibility. 

A  dreary  time  ensued,  although  the  sky  kcjit 
113  H 


^3l•ana^a 

brightening.  While  we  were  plodding  up  and 
down  the  stony  steeps,  I  tried  to  amuse  myself  by 
examining  Pincho  as  to  his  occupations,  accomplish- 
ments, and  so  forth.  Once  upon  my  sneezing  he 
took  me  up  with  a  pious  ejaculation,  as  is  usual  in 
this  country.  I  set  the  question  to  him  from 
Montaigne,  "  Can  you  tell  me  whence  the  custom 
ariseth,  to  blesse  and  say  God  helpe  to  those  that 
sneese  ? ''  But  Pincho  on  this  point  was  not  an 
oracle.  The  humbler  classes  of  this  as  of  all  lands 
possess  their  superstitions,  but  know  not  why. 
Properly  considered,  is  not  this  what  constitutes  a 
superstition  ? 

Then  it  occurred  to  me  to  ask  him  if  he  could 
read  and  write. 

"  No,  Senorito,''"  was  the  quick  reply.  "  I  went  to 
school  for  seven  years  ;  but  the  fact  is,  my  school- 
master was  a  dreadful  fool." 

The  retort  f/i*courteous  was  evident,  but  I  set  my 
lips  to  hide  a  smile,  and  said  nothing. 

When  we  began  to  descend  the  cuesta  winding  in 
an  almost  endless  spiral  towards  Granada,  a  violent 
surprise  awaited  me.  Up  to  this  point  I  had 
imao-ined  mv  faithful  Pincho  to  be  the  lowliest  of 
the  lowlv.  But  now  he  expanded  into  nothing  less 
than  a  landed  proprietor,  A  small  boy  working 
in  a  field  of  potatoes  adjacent  to  the  roadway,  ran 
up  to  Pincho's  side,  and  solicited  employment  as  his 
gardener  and  his  goatherd  ;  for  it  seems  that  my 
guide  was  owner  of  the  following  effects,  enu- 
merated to  me  in  this  order  : 

The  two  nags. 

11-t 


ri\e  <^oat.s. 

A  wife. 

Two  cliildren. 

A  cottage. 

A  plot  of  ground. 

Pincho  pulled  up  forthwith,  and  regarding  the 
candidate  with  an  air  of  Sabine  aust.eritv,  delivered 
a  pithy  sermon  on  the  characteristics  of  the  domestic 
goat. 

"  The  goat,"'  he  said,  "  is  a  delicate  creature,  whose 
milk  is  easily  turned  bad  by  beating  and  (lis<>;itstosr 

The  boy  assented. 

"  There  are  lads  who  ill-treat  their  goats  and  spoil 
their  milk." 

The  boy  shook  his  head,  to  indicate  that  though 
such  criminals  are  not  unknown,  he  for  his  part 
repudiated  all  association  with  them. 

"  Vou  will  not  lay  the  stick  uj)on  mv  goats?" 

'•  Not  I." 

'•  Nor  frighten  them  with  shouting  .-  " 

•'  No." 

"  Nor  pelt  them  with  stones .-"" 

"  May  I  see  myself  blind  if  I  do." 

This  closed  the  examination.  "  Vou  mav  come 
to  my  house  at  Huetor,"  observed  the  potentate,  "  on 
Tiiursday  morning."  He  then  handed  the  infont  a 
cigarette,  which  the  latter  lighted  with  ])recoci()us 
care,  and  shook  his  rein,  while  the  other  sprang 
blithely  back  to  his  labours  in  the  glebe. 

The  time  had  now  arrived  to  settle  our  account^. 
A  pretty  pair  we  nnist  have  looked  ;  I'incho,  with 
his  bandaged,  blood-stained  head.  I  with  mv  stirruj)- 
115 


©vanaba 

less,  naked,  swollen  feet  protruding  through  the 
griniv  sandals.  Luckily  nobody  was  by  to  raise  a 
laugh,  and  so  for  us  the  moment  was  intensely 
solemn — as  solemn  as  the  signing  of  a  treaty,  or  the 
editor''s  replies  to  coi'respondents  in  the  Satunlatj 
Revieic.  First  we  brought  our  jaded  animals  to- 
gether and  shook  hands  in  imposing  silence,  like 
Wellington  and  Bliicher  on  the  field  of  Waterloo. 
Then  I  pulled  out  and  told  the  money — twenty-four 
pesetas  and  a  gratification  of  another  twenty. 
Pincho  took  them  and  took  his  hat  off.  "  Don 
Leonardo,""  he  said,  with  a  distinct  tremble  in  his 
voice,  "  I  am  a  poor  man,  though  honest."  (I  recalled 
Cervantes'*  nasty  cynical  phrase  to  the  effect  that 
honesty  and  poverty  are  incompatible,  but  charitably 
kept  the  recollection  to  myself).  "  I  like,"  my  guide 
went  on,  "to  serve  a  gentleman;  and  you,  Don 
I^eonardo,  are  a  gentleman."'"'  I  murmured  my  thanks 
and  did  mv  best  to  dispel  the  accusation  ;  for  it  is 
not  thought  decent  in  ceremonious  Spain  to  accept  a 
compliment  without  rejecting  its  conclusions,  at  once 
besmirching  your  own  fair  fame  and  taxing  your 
panegyrist  with  untruthfulness,  "  I  am  a  poor  man, 
Don  Leonardo ;  but  if  ever  your  circumstances 
should  become — as  we  often  find  them  in  this  world  ""' 
(I  caught  a  decided  delicacy  in  the  pause),  "  Pincho, 
alias  Jose  Ferucindez,  has  always  a  dollar  in  his 
pocket  to  share  with  you."'"' 

After  these   moving  words  we  grasped    the  hota, 

and  sealing  our  friendly  sentiments  in  the  approved 

fashion  began  to  thread  the  lanes  of  cottages  upon 

the  outskirts  of  the  town,  when  suddenly,  in  turning 

116 


IRcviViU 


a  comer,  Pincho  glanced  across  his  shoulder,  called 
to  me,  and  ])()inted.  There,  it  seemed  innumerable 
leagues  away,  towered  the  great  Picacho,  smothered 
in  spotless  snow.  And  even  while  we  looked,  the  rosy 
radiance  of  the  setting  sun  drew  over  that  majestic 
mass  from  crown  to  pedestal. 


ir 


A  Good  Head  for  a  height,  on  the  Summit  of  the  Trevenque 

IX 

How   I   Did  Not  Climb  the  Trevenque 

)\V  very  stranj>er  exclaimed  my 
friend  and  fellow  expeditic)ni>t.  the 
lieutenant—"  a  baker  who  does  not 
know  the  price  of  bread."^  He 
raised    his  eyeglass  with   co(iuettish 

curiosity. 

«  If  only  my  son  were  here/'  sighed  the  old  woman, 
"  I  couhl  inform  vou  in  a  moment. 

The  loaves  were  in  a  little  cupboard  in  the  passage  : 
not  manv  loaves  all  told-pcrhaps  a  sccre.  I  picked 
out  one  and  prodded  it  with  pseudo-connoisseurship. 
It  seen^^d  to  me  the  very  best  of  bread,  this  clean, 
and  close,  and  snowy  bread  of  Spain.  I  dug  my 
thumbs  into  it,  and  then  I  weighed  it  on  my  palm, 
and  then  I  sniHed  at  it.  The  fact  is,  I  was  hungry, 
119 


Oranata 

and  the  smell  of  bread,  just  like  the  smell  of  earth, 
is  one  of  nature's  perfumes. 

I  said  :  "  It  does  not  seem  to  weigh  the  Ai/o." 

"  No  doubt,"  returned  the  beldam,  with  a  stealthy 
snigger  ;  "  it  is  only  a  half-AvYo  loaf." 

"  Well,  well,"  put  in  my  friend  to  cover  my  con- 
fusion, "  ask  us  all  you  please.  But  I  warn  you,"  he 
added,  "that  if  you  overcharge  I  shall  report  you 
to  the  Governor  of  Granada.  You  know  the  law 
relating  to  articles  of  prime  necessity  ? " 

"  Quid,'''  replied  the  old  woman,  without  the  least 
dismay,  "  the  Governor  of  Granada  has  other  things 
to  busy  him." 

My  friend  drew  out  some  coppers.  "  How  much  ?  " 
he  asked  again,  this  time  a  trifle  snappishly. 

A  man  of  middle  age  stepped  into  the  passage 
from  the  street  and  cast  a  quick,  suspicious  glance  at 
both  of  us.  "  Thirty  centimoSy''  he  said, as  brusquelv 
as  the  officer  before  him,  "that  bread  costs  thirty 
centhno-'ir 

And  yet  the  crone  had  suffered — or  had  taken — 
no  offence.  "  I  told  you  so,"  she  croaked  with  quick 
contentment ;  "  he  bakes  and  sells  the  bread.  I  only 
keep  his  home  in  order."  A  look  of  motherly  pride 
went  with  the  words  :  but  (like  a  woman)  slic  it  was 
who  held  hei'  hand  out  for  the  money. 

The  scene  of  this  ado  was  Cajar,  about  one  hour's 
walking  from  the  city  of  the  Alhambra  and  the 
Alahmares.  Cajar  is  one  of  those  villages,  common 
enough  in  this  Peninsula,  which  seem,  no  doubt 
fallaciously,  to  have  more  houses  than  inhabitants. 
Even  (a  non  plus  ultra  token  of  depopulation  in  this 
120 


■fljow  3  IDl^  IRot  Climb  the   Cicvciuiuc 

laud),  there  is  no  bull-ring  and  the  c-hurch  tan  boast 
uo  beggar  on  its  doorstep.  Yet  Cajar  is  clean,  and 
old,  and  well-to-do,  and  eminently  decent.  Before 
we  bade  its  cottages  good-bye,  wc  turned  into 
the  only  tavern  of  the  place,  a  two-roomed, 
unpretentious  shanty  with  a  moiscl  of  a 
counter,  and  summoning  a  niedia'val  matron  from 
her  needle,  drank  down  a  glass  of  thin  white 
wine,  and  afterwards  a  (juantity  of  water.  Our 
floor  was  simple  brick,  our  table  simple  pine,  our 
walls  the  simplest  whitewash,  outraged  by  sundry 
cln-omos  of  the  German  grade  of  hideousness ;  those 
chromos  which  become  gamboge  throughout  as  years 
roll  over  them — the  Kaiser's  "yellow  peiil '"  with  a 
veno-eance.  Between  the  chromos  a  broken  bracket 
contained  a  broken  plaster  image  of  Saint  Michael 
stamping  Satnn  underfoot.  In  spite  of  the  arch- 
angefs  kicks  and  of  his  thrustings  with  a  kind  of 
pickle-fork,  only  the  image  of  the  Tempter  stayed 
unbroken.  Amid  these  natural  and  artistic  charms 
we  sat,  the  officer,  his  servant,  and  myself  on  three 
straw-seated  chairs  :  and  this  was  all  the  chamber. 

Our  limited  provisions  had  been  packed  into  an 
empty  camera  case.  We  pulled  them  out  and  made 
a  rapid  meal,  breaking,  together  with  a  chunk  of 
cheese  and  hard-boiled  egg,  the  bread  we  had  just 
purchased.  Unluckily  we  cannot,  like  the  camel, 
store  up  a  drink  against  the  actual  hour  of  our 
thirst,  and  draw  on  such  reserve  as  requisite.  I 
(luatted  a  glass,  and  then  another  glass ;  and  yet  I 
was  not  thirsty.  Prevention  in  this  instance  proved 
a  I'-reat  deal   worse  than  cure,  and  later  on   I  paid  a 

121 


^5rana^a 

heavy  price  for  such  dipsetic  folly.  However,  .since 
thirst  and  hunger  must  be  positively  felt  before 
we  take  their  meaning  even  in  a  faint  degree,  I 
suffered  for  the  moment  no  uneasiness.  So  tjuitting 
the  empty  tavern  for  the  empty  street,  and  empty 
Cajar  for  the  empty  ways  beyond,  we  lit  our  cigar- 
ette, and  strode,  contentedly  enough,  towards  the 
high  Sierra. 

The  taller  crests  of  this,  as  everv  loftv  range,  are 
hidden  at  their  base  by  humbler  foothills,  but  in 
its  general  consistencv  and  form  the  Sierra  Nevada 
of  Spain  suggests  a  pigmy  Himalaya  rather  than  the 
Alps  or  Pyrenees  of  Europe.  ChieHv  composed  of 
mica  shale,  with  little  granite  or  cohesive  stone,  the 
principal  elevations  tend  to  break  awav  w itli  marked 
abruptness  on  a  single  side  ;  and  hence  the  ])rospect 
from  the  crown  of  the  Veleta  nuist  be  strangely 
like  the  mannnoth  Gaurisankar  and  his  neighbours 
viewed  from  the  forests  of  Sikkini.  lietween  the  arms 
or  divisorias  that  go  up  towards  each  peak  are  deep 
harrancos  or  ravines  conveying  streams  of  melted 
snow.  Often  these  latter  have  their  source  in  crystal 
lakes  that  lurk  (juite  near  the  summits  of  the  chain  ; 
often  their  covnse  is  placid  and  the  music  of  their 
march  melodious  and  suave ;  often,  a  foaminu-,  roarino- 
mass,  they  overleap  a  thousand  feet  of  precipice  ; 
often  their  silver  passage  may  be  traced  for  hours  at 
a  time  ;  often  for  hours  at  a  time  thev  creep  con- 
cealed within  the  very  bowels  of  the  mountain. 
Animal  life  is  not  diversified.  Eagles  and  wolves 
are  fairly  numerous,  but  scarce  and  growing  scarcer 
every  season  is  the  beautiful  cahra  mantes^  a  kind  of 

122 


Ibow  3  Si?  IRot  Clnnb  tbc    cicvciiouc 

ibex,  wary  and  keen-scented  as  tlie  cliauiois.  Forests 
of  chestnut,  oak,  and  pine  invest  the  lower  zones ;  and 
here  and  there  a  scanty  patcli  of  wheat  or  niaize 
adjoins  the  white  cortijo  sheltered  in  some  hollow  of 
the  rocky  ridges.  Above  the  wheat  and  maize  are 
stretches  of  thin  ])asture,  where  shej)herds  keep  their 
cabins  and  their  Hocks  from  spring  till  early  autunni. 
AVhen  I  was  small  I  used  to  think  the  Al})> 
and  Himalayas  rose  u})  as  jjerpeudicular  as  any 
wall,  from  absolute  sea-level  to  the  clouds. 
Reader,  have  vou  not  thought  the  same  .'  That  mi>- 
beliel,  so  tvpicallv  and  ])athetically  infantile,  origi- 
nated in  our  atlas,  where  Everest  and  his  l)rother 
giants  rise  like  the  steepest  sugar  loaf  against  their 
scale  of  altitude.  So,  too,  misguided  by  our  natural 
history,  did  we  not  think  in  childhood  that  the 
hottest  climates  are  per  «'  the  best ;  that  livers,  like 
a  compensation-balance,  accommodate  themselves  to 
every  temperature;  that  tropical  America's  unsullied 
skies,  year  in,  year  out  are  rather  warmer  than  an 
English  June;  and  that  a  lion  is  the  bravest  of  all 
beasts,  scarcely  excluding  man  r  And  yet  upon 
such  misconceptions  hangs  no  little  of  our  latter-day 
philosophy.  A  ])retty  world  we  live  in  if  no  child 
should  know  the  truth  a])out  it  till  increasing  yeais 
and  waning  innocence  oblige  him  !  However  this 
may  be,  our  present  process  is  akin  to  barbarism. 
Parents,  governesses,  and  the  authors  of  school- 
literature  conspire  to  keep  the  child  awhile  in  fairy- 
land. Then  na,ture,  hustling  fantasy  aside,  thrusts 
up  her  bigger  and  more  brutal  book,  and  rubs  tlu- 
childish  nose  upon  its  pages. 
12;  J 


(Bl•ana^a 

Of  course  it  is  impossible  to  plant  the  foot  at 
any  certain  spot  and  say,  "  Here  begins  the  Sierra 
Nevada."  The  first  approach  by  where  we  moved 
this  morning,  is  up  and  over  a  softly  shelving 
and  apparently  interminable  slope,  with  rounded 
rocks,  like  elbows,  here  and  there  projecting 
through  a  miserable,  threadbare,  stony  soil.  Only 
at  distant  intervals  yon  spy  a  tall  arretf  clad 
with  unbroken  snow.  After  a  league  or  so  of  this 
insensible  incline  we  found,  on  looking  back,  the 
tower  of  Cajar  church  beneath  our  feet.  Beyond 
and  lower  still,  the  maplike  Vega  of  Granada 
swept  broadly  round  towards  xVlhama  and  the 
west,  dotted  all  over  its  expanse  with  picturesque 
demure  hamlets  interspersed  with  green  and  golden 
cultivation.  The  atmosphere  through  which  we 
viewed  that  fair  and  far  champaign  was  silent  with 
the  silence  of  the  mountains,  where  vision  ripens  at 
the  cost  of  sound.  Fine-weather  clouds  half  glided, 
half  gyrated  overhead  in  delicate  yet  massy  drift- 
age ;  a  falcon  transpierced  the  deepest  azure ;  and 
once  we  passed  a  goatherd  propped  dead-weight 
upon  his  staff.  He  and  the  rock  on  which  he  stood 
seemed,  like  a  statue  and  its  base,  equally  contrived 
from  stone.  We  called  to  him.  He  did  not  hear, 
or  did  not  answer  if  he  heard ;  and  so,  to  no  re- 
gret of  mine,  we  strengthened  our  illusion. 

About  midday  the  slope,  mounting  to  several 
thousand  feet  and  stopping  at  a  shoulder,  disclosed, 
beyond  the  border  of  a  desert  table-land  embosomed 
in  the  cyclopean  mountain  walls,  a  splendid  sweep 
of  precipice  and  peak  ;  of  shaly  ridges  first,  speckled 

124 


1I3 0 w  3  ID  1  ^  1H 0 1  C 1  nn b  t b c  Ci c v c n q ii c 

and  streaked  witli  foam,  and  after  these  the  glitterinti 
snow-fields  of  the  great  Sierra.  Our  [!;on\  was  the 
Trevenqiie.  Yonder  it  lay,  five  miles  ahead  and 
slightly  to  our  left,  a  crest  of  Matterhorn  steej)ness 
rising  from  a  group  of  lesser  peak  lets  ranged  about 
their  lord. 

By  this  time  I  was  dead  athirst.  The  part  of 
the  Sierra  through  which  we  now  advanced  is  very 
nearly  destitute  of  water.  Only  at  several  miles 
apart  the  regular  path  of  mule  and  mountaineer 
runs  through  or  round  a  limpid,  microscopic  pool ; 
and  each  of  these  the  aborigines  grandihxjuently 
term  a  "  fountain.'"  To  make  my  woeful  situation 
worse,  a  stream  was  purling  in  the  vallev  far  be- 
neath. So  did  the  siren''s  song  provoke  I'lvsses, 
save  that,  unlike  Ulysses,  I  was  free  to  follow. 
However,  I  glued  my  eyes  upon  that  aiid  peak 
ahead,  and  manfully  maintained  our  bearings. 
Presently,  by  great  good  luck  we  struck  one  orange 
at  the  bottom  of  the  camera-case,  and,  not  much 
further  on,  one  of  the  celebrated  "  fountains." 
Plump  in  the  middle  of  our  track  a  small  depres- 
sion contained  a  quart  or  two  of  water.  However, 
unless  disturbed,  the  priceless  liquid  was  ethereally 
clear,  and  overflowing  very  slightly  showed  that  it 
oozed  and  issued  from  a  constant  source.  ^Making  a 
cup  out  of  my  half  of  the  orange,  I  filled  and  cjuaffed 
at  will.  In  artificial  craftsmanship  a  silver  cup  is 
lined  with  gold.  Here  (and  it  appeti/ed  me  all  the 
more)  nature,  proceeding  on  another  plan,  had  lined 
my  f>-olden  o;oblet  with  fine  silver.  My  fiiend.  con- 
temptuous  of  such  luxuries,  fell  flat  along  the  soil 
125 


OianaJa 

and  thrust  his  lips  into  the  mimic  patch  of  moisture. 
Each  of  these  methods  served  its  primal  purpose  ;  yet 
our  discussion  as  to  their  respective  value  sustained 
our  chatter  for  the  whole  remainder  of  our  outward 
journev. 

The  sim  was  evidently  stooping  to  the  west  when 
we  drew  really  near  to  our  destination.  Unlike  his 
brother  mountains  of  this  range,  the  conical  Tre- 
venque,  an  insinuating  crest  that  steepens  bv  im- 
palpable degrees,  is  chiefly  sand  and  rock.  From 
autumn  to  early  spring  the  snow,  wherever  it  can 
find  a  place  to  lie,  affords  some  kind  of  foothold ; 
but  even  in  the  best  conditions  the  climb  is  what 
the  euphemistic  Spanish  terms  comprometklo.  The 
topmost  hundred  yards  are  dangerous,  and  the  final 
\'e\\  completely  sheer.  In  this  ascent  I  did  not 
join  my  comrade.  A  long  stagnation  in  the  town 
had  disinured  me  to  such  violent  exercise.  Already 
my  feet  were  sore  and  swollen,  and  worst  of  all  (so 
great  was  my  fatigue)  a  nail  projecting  from  my  boot 
was  piercing  deep  into  my  heel,  without  my  recog- 
nising that  the  pain  of  this  was  purely  local. 

Accordingly  I  took  my  seat  upon  a  modest  crag 
and  gazed  at  the  Trevenque  and  my  friend's  recedino- 
form.  I  found  that  on  the  south  the  mountain 
overhangs  a  ramhla  or  dry  river  bed,  lookinf^  from 
this  my  perch  just  like  a  broad,  white  carriage -road. 
The  ramhla  winds  away  into  a  velvety  abyss  fringed 
with  grey  pinnacles  and  juts  of  Scandinavian  weird- 
ness.  Sometimes  these  points  of  rock  converge  until 
they  almost  meet,  forming  a  kind  of  arch  that  only 
lacks  a  keystone.  \\\m\  is  the  end  of  the  abyss  I  do 
126 


■fljow  3  Sij  Wot  Climb  t Ik  'C i l v c no u c 

not  know.     Some  day  I  shall  exploiv  it  to  the  (k-jjtli, 
but  tVoiu  above  it  seems  unfathomable. 

A  loii^-  v.liile  afterwards  my  friend  returned,  to- 
g'ether  with  his  a.s'i.stente.  "Of  course  vou  j)hoto- 
o-raphed  us  at  the  top  ?''  he  asked,  as  I  rejoined  liini 
on  the  path  below  the  crag.  He  spok(.'  huskily, 
limped,  and  looked  a  sorry  sji^lit  all  over. 

I  liad  not  photographed  him.  With  j)rudent 
inactivity  I  had  passed  a  couple  of  hours,  partlv  in 
staring  at  the  scenery  and  ])artlv  in  a  do/e.  My 
camera  had  lain  beside  me,  but  the  index  of  the 
changing-box  had  not  advanced  one  single  number. 

The  lieutenant  was  annoyed.  "  It's  too  bad,"  he 
gasped  ;  "  you  |)romised  to  photograj)h  us.  I  l)elieve 
you've  been  asleep."' 

I  said  I  had. 

"  Vou  English,"  he  resumed,  '"'  are  alwavs  railing 
at  the  Spaniards  for  their  indolence  ;  but  I  can't  see 
much  of  the  liritish  energv  in  i/ou." 

I  said.  •"  1  am  not  English.  I  am  \Velsh ;  and  the 
Welsh  are  rumoured  to  proceeil  from  an  ancient 
Spanish  stock.     My  indolence  is  atavic." 

"  Whv,  then,"'  my  friend  retortetl,  -  vou  \Velsh 
are  just  degenerate  Spaniards,  that  is  all." 

This  time  it  was  I  mIio  felt  obliged  to  answer, 
since  foot-sore  folks  permit  themselves  a  touchy  sen.se 
of  self-esteem.  Changing  the  current  of  the  convei'sa- 
tion,  I  pointed  out  that  from  the  top  of  the  Trevenque 
to  the  spot  where  I  had  lingered  was  at  least  two  miles. 
"  My  lens,"  I  argued,  "  does  not  distinguish  persons  at 
that  distance — not  even  a  Spanish  officer.  Vou  might 
as  well  expect  me  to  photograj)h  a  Hv  on  the  Neleta.'' 

1^>7 


^5vana^a 


They  had  not  reached  the  apex  of  our  peak. 
They  climbed  upon  a  rocky  ledge  protruding  out 
and  sheer  eight  metres  from  the  crest ;  had  brushed 
the  summit  with  their  finger-tips,  but  had  not  set 
their  toes  on  it.  Once  they  had  thought  themselves 
about  the  very  brink,  but  crawling  several  inches 
further  espied  the  actual  crown  still  fretted  over- 
head, and  underneath,  four  thousand  feet  described 
as  perpendicular  as  with  a  })lumb,  a  threadlike 
cataract.  The  stolid  servant,  who  had  been  a  shoe- 
maker before  he  took  to  (or  was  made  to  take  to) 
soldiering,  turned  green  from  dizziness,  vet  sought 
with  rustic  shame  to  mask  his  true  emotion.  "  O 
what  a  view,"  he  blurted ;  but  overcome  before  the 
words  were  at  an  end,  concealed  his  face  upon  the 
scrap  of  stone  which  barely  held  him  from  eternity. 
Perils  of  other  kinds  had  aggravated  the  attempt. 
The  scanty  shrubs  they  clutched  at  broke  away,  or 
filled  their  palms  with  prickles.  In  parts  the  snow 
was  glaciated,  and  once  an  eagle  flapped  its  dis- 
concerting wing  across  their  faces.  Altogether  it 
had  been  a  bad  adventure ;  a  very  bad  adventure. 

Not  without  a  selfish  exultation  at  my  heart,  I 
wagged  my  head  and  proffered  my  condolences. 
Mine,  after  all,  had  been  the  true  philosophy.  Beatm 
'die  (jui  procul  negotiis.  A  pi-etty  negotiiim  had 
been  theirs;  and  so,  extending  to  my  worsted  jivals 
an  ostentatious  magnanimity  begotten  of  glutted 
vengeance,  I  granted,  nay,  I  forced  upon  them, 
another  hour  of  unconditional  repose. 

Then  we  set  out  for  home.  Ushered  by  evanescent 
colours  in  the  sky,  night  drew  her  pageantry  before 

1^8 


Ujow  5  ^l^  IWot  Climb    tbc  "Cicveiuiuc 

US  OH  tliese  large  and  loftv  j)lacc"s.  TIk'  distant 
snow-fields,  smitten  by  the  tlusk,  as.su nied  a  sad, 
strange,  olive  tone,  then  ash,  and,  last  beneath  the 
failing  day,  a  sheeny  hue,  half-nacreous,  half-dia- 
phanous, pencilled  at  every  cliff  and  curve  with  dark 
yet  delicate  shading.  Out  of  the  sanguine,  chrome, 
and  orange  west  projected  neighbouring  sununits, 
indigo  and  violet,  madder,  mauve  and  purple.  \  euus 
and  a  strip  of  moon  sprang  forth  abreast ;  then  either 
j\Iarv,  with  Orion  at  a  corner  of  the  three.  So  did 
the  stars  appear,  until,  to  one  who  strained  his  eyes 
across  that  vapourless  expanse,  they  seemed  inviting 
him  to  oversoar  the  realms  of  space,  and,  as  a  new 
and  nearer  essence  to  themselves,  to  be  admitted  to 
the  perfect  knowledge  of  their  paths,  to  be  initiated 
into  every  secret  of  their  superterrene  splendour. 

Beneath  us  we  had  light  enough  to  keep  from 
falling  flat,  but  often  not  enough  to  guard  our- 
selves from  stuiu))ling.  Thus  rocks  or  stones  of 
biggish  size  could  be  detected  ;  but  pebbles,  round  as 
well  as  sharp,  menaced  our  balance  and  assailed  the 
tender  portions  of  the  foot.  Our  road  was  fairly 
plain,  but  sometimes  crossed  another  one,  or  several 
others  at  a  time.  The  servant  led  the  wav  ;  next 
came  the  officer,  and  then  myself.  The  lieutenant  was 
singing  snatches  of  Italian  opera — tenor,  soprano, 
contralto,  baritone,  or  basso,  just  as  the  fancy  took 
him — his  rendering  of  all  five  being  equally  and 
indiscriminately  execrable.  He  told  me  at  a  later 
staire  that  he  was  sinoin";  "  to  drown  the  aching: 
of  his  feet,''  making  (at  least  for  me)  one  painful 
action  to  eclipse  another.     Once  or  twice  he  paused 

1^9  1 


(Bl•ana^a 

to  point  a  name  or  other  circumstance  related  to 
some  star.  Suddenly  I  felt  a  hatred  for  those  stars 
that  just  a  little  before  had  magnetized  me.  Not 
often  does  the  mimic  or  untrue  affect  us  more  pro- 
foundly than  the  real,  yet  so  it  was  on  this  abrupt 
occasion.  Far  above,  the  star-lamps  glittered  grandly. 
Far  ahead  and  far  below,  uncovered  at  some  corner 
of  our  way,  the  lamplets  of  Granada  twinkled  in  the 
blackness.  Here  was  my  sudden  cynosure,  and  this 
is  why.  Upon  a  time  I  courted  a  girl  in  the  old 
country.  She  lived  in  a  great  seaport,  I  in  a  small 
suburban  village  on  the  coast ;  and  every  night  I 
walked  both  in  and  out,  around  the  bay,  to  see  and 
speak  with  her.  Now,  as  I  fixed  my  gaze  upon 
Granada,  the  city  lamps  resolved  themselves  into 
those  lamps  of  old.  Again  I  welcomed  every  step 
that  brought  me  closer  to  those  lamps  and  her ; 
lamented  every  step  that  parted  me  from  her  and 
them.  Eyes  that  would  fathom  mine  no  more ; 
hands  that  my  own  would  hold  no  longer — I  saw 
and  I  caressed  them  once  anew.  Just  as  we  sever  or 
undo  the  silken  ribbon  that  binds  up  a  bundle  of 
old  love-letters,  I  set  my  life  asunder  from  a  dozen 
years ;  and  fresh  with  even  the  perfume  of  the  past, 
the  memory  of  those  hours  came  very  mournfully 
and  very  sweetly  back  to  me. 

Proceeding  downwards  for  about  two  hours  we 
halted  to  confer.  Our  line  of  march  by  now  was 
thin  and  indistinct,  but  yonder  lay  Granada.  The 
city  lights  were  glittering,  apparently  not  far  ahead, 
and  rather  to  our  right.  We  should  be  nearing 
Cajar.  Presently,  to  be  sure,  we  struck  the  outskirts 
130 


hjow  .'J  ^l^  iRot  ciimii  tbc  ricvciunic 

of  our  villajre.  Trees  were  about  us,  and  the  air  was 
jjitchy.  I  drew  ahead,  but  tliough  I  stepped  with 
care  I  nearly  thrust  mv  foot  into  a  water-channel. 
Strange !  I  liad  seen  no  water-channel  on  tliat 
morning.  Was  Cajar,  like  so  nianv  of  our  ladv 
friends,  one  thing  bv  night  and  sonietiiing  else  bv 
day  ? 

Suddenly  I  heard  an  exclamation  from  mv  col- 
league. ^'  WccUcmnfi"'  (the  nearest  a{)proach  a 
Spanish  palate  ever  makes  in  the  direction  of  my 
surname),  "  Weelleams,  we  are  in  La  Zubia.''' 

I  thought  it  was  a  savage  joke,  or  else  that  he  was 
off'  his  head,  like  the  survivors  of  the  Medusa,  and 
other  wights  who  have  endured  the  unendurable. 
"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  I  angrily  retorted.  Nevertheless, 
I  felt  some  new  misgiving,  Mv  feet  were  two  great 
bags  of  pain.  I  set  them  down  ;  that  is  to  say,  I 
stopped.  The  officer  shuffled  up,  attended  closely 
by  our  faithful  shoemaker.  "  It's  quite  true,"  he 
repeated  in  a  tone  of  dull,  monotonous  despair ;  "I 
asked  a  cottager.     We  are  in  La  Zubia." 

We  stared  aghast  towards  each  other's  faces.  I 
make  this  declaration  at  a  venture.  We  could  not 
see  each  other's  faces,  but  I  am  positive  that  liorror 
was  inscribed  on  them.  My  ))roof  is  purely  circum- 
stantial. Man  is  so  poor  at  husbanding  his  feelings 
that  we  even  make  the  same  grimaces  in  the  dark 
as  in  the  daylight.  As  if  we  might  not  spare  our- 
selves the  trouble. 

"  How  about  your  lights  of  Granada  ? "  asked  the 
lieutenant  with  a  sneer,  "  han^in^  a  couple  of  hundred 
yards  (iicaij  like  pearls  upon  a  string'  r  " 

131 


"  Yes,'"'  I  retorted,  "  and  how  about  your  science 
of  the  stars  ?  I  don't  believe  you  know  Orion  from 
the  moon." 

But  then,  instead  of  trying  to  come  to  blows,  we 
laughed  outi"ioht. 

I  said,  "  AVe  must  have  missed  our  way."  The 
mean  grotesqueness  of  the  words  exceeds  derision  ;  yet 
who,  in  similar  straits,  would  not  have  uttered  them  ? 

The  damned  village  of  La  Zubia  is  distant  from 
Granada  nearly  seven  kilometres.  We  could  have 
flown  sooner  than  reach  the  toAvn  afoot.  We  dragged 
our  carcasses  to  somewhere  with  a  smell  of  wine 
and  sank  upon  two  shaky  chairs,  burying  our 
heads  and  arms  upon  a  table.  Our  shoemaker  was 
bundled  off  to  make  inquiries  with  a  view  to  our 
return.  After  a  while  he  shook  us  up  to  say  that 
both  the  telephone  wires  were  broken,  but  that  a 
native  of  the  place  possessed  a  carriage  and  its 
corresponding  team.  Presently  the  native  came,  and 
somebody  shook  us  up  again.  Between  the  pair  we 
stammered  out  some  syllables,  and  asked  the  price  of 
passage. 

"  Seven  pesetas.'''' 

Were  we  awake,  or  were  we  in  a  dream  ? 

"  Seven  pesetas.'^  The  noble  woixls  restored  to  us 
a  measure  of  vitality.  That  man — so  high  a  worth 
he  set  on  charity — was  nothing  of  a  Christian  dealer. 
His  veins  warti  tilled  with  Jewish,  ^Moorish,  or  ]Morisco 
blood,  unspilled,  unspotted  and  unspoiled  by  Ferdi- 
nand and  Isabella.  "  Seven  pesetas ! "  We  would 
have  paid  ten  pounds  apiece,  even  if  we  had  had  to 
sign  a  document  for  their  discharge  before  arrival. 

132 


1I3CW  3  ^l^  HAot  Climb  tbc    cicvciuiuc 

"  Seven /;6^sr/^/.y .' "  It  could  not  be;  this  paltiv, 
this  infinitesimal  reward.  It  could  not  be  :  yet  so  it 
was,  togethei-  with  another  marvel.  Incredible  to 
state,  the  native  took  our  stupefaction  for  a  protest. 
"Well,"'  he  conceded,  "  six  y:;6'.y6'<rt.S',  to  say  the  very 
least.""  I  think  that  after  all  he  was  a  Christian — 
and  a  fool. 

The  carria<^e  came — a  covered  wagonette.  AVe 
tottered  to  its  door.  The  shoemaker,  I  take  it, 
climbed  upon  the  box.  Some  one  was  doubtless 
also  there  to  drive. 

We  scnorifo.s  clambered  on  the  stej),  then  fiom  the 
step  upon  the  floor,  and  from  the  floor  u])ori  the 
parallel  and  ample  cushions.  Darkness  and  sleep 
an-ain  took  charg-e  of  us  herewith,  until,  extended 
prone  as  in  an  ambulance,  we  drove  into  Granada. 


13;J 


The  Ave  Maria  Colony 


X 


The  Ave  Maria  Colony 

iPON  the  road  to  the  Sac ro-Monte,  just 
where  it  makes  a  couple  of  rapid  bends 
about  the  Darro,  the  passer-bv  looks 
down  on  half  a  dozen  sunnv  villas  nest- 
lino-  in  luxuriant  foliage.  If  he  looks 
down  with  some  attentiveness,  these  villas  will  impress 
themselves  upon  him  as  mvsteriously  associated  one 
with  another,  constitutinp^,  for  all  their  separate 
garden-plots  and  boundaries,  a  single  large  estate, 
disposed  by  the  same  intelligence,  ruled  bv  the  same 
administrator.  And  he  will  hear,  distinguishable 
from  the  murmur  of  a  neighbouring  brook,  the 
babble  and  ring  of  many  youthful  voices ;  far  more 
than  ever  a  single  family   might   muster.     Here,  in 


©ranaJa 


fact,  is  the  Colony  of  the  Ave  Maria  ;  where  waifjs 
and  strays,  and  pauper  boys  and  girls  are  educated 
both  in  body  and  in  brain,  and — best  of  all — edu- 
cated from  the  love  of  God,  ami  not  the  lust  of 
Mammon ;  schoolrooms  converted  into  carmenes, 
carmenes  into  schoolrooms  ;  sunshine  into  study,  and 
study  into  sunshine;  where  "recreations  and  jollv 
pastimes  fetch  the  day  about  from  sun  to  sun.  and 
rock  the  tedious  year  as  in  a  delightful  dream  " ;  a 
pedagogic  paradise  in  the  open  air ;  the  best,  and 
brightest,  and  blithest  institution  in  the  whole  of 
modern  Andalusia. 

As  I  shall  presently  tell,  a  dozen  years  ago  this 
noble  work  had  only  just  begun.  To-dav  the  colony 
consists  of  these  six  carmenes,  with  beautiful  and 
ample  grounds  attached,  classes  for  five  hundred 
boys  and  girls,  and  workshops  for  such  as  are  old 
enough  to  learn  a  trade.  Besides  this,  the  colony  has 
branches,  also  with  several  hundred  pupils  apiece — 
the  Tr'mnfo,  at  the  northern  apex  of  the  city, 
and  the  Quinfd  Alegve,  at  the  southern,  upon  the 
road  to  Huetor.  The  cost  of  keeping  up  the  whole 
amounts  to  more  than  fifty  thousand  pesetas  annually  ; 
a  stiff  amount  for  Spanish  purses,  and  to  which  the 
State,  which  only  thinks  of  soldiering  and  sailoring 
and  such  tomfoolery,  contributes  not  one  single 
centhno. 

Of  course,  as  soon  as  I  was  told  of  the  wonders  of 
the  Ave  Maria,  I  burned  to  inspect  them  for  myself; 
and  so  one  day,  accompanied  and  guided  by  a  friend 
who  knows  the  Colony  well,  I  stepped  aside  into  those 
gardens   on   the  Sacro-Monte    road.      Threading   a 

136 


Zbc  Bvt  /ID  a  via  Colcnv 

maze  ofslinihs  we  came  upon  a  terrace  covered  at 
one  extremity  with  a  trellised  \iiie,  sliadini;  a  class 
of /;r/'/t'«/as',  oi- tiny  children.  These  were  the  hi-ats 
who  once  upon  a  time  had  spent  the  day  in  stoning' 
and  molestinii;  peaceful  wayfarers;  yet  now,  as  soon 
as  they  caught  si<;ht  of  us,  they  sprant;  to  their  feet, 
pulled  off  their  caj)s,  and  shouted  ''^  Ave  Marui'' ; 
which  is,  I  was  informed,  the  colonists'  indispensable 
salute.  A  o-eiitle  featured  lad  was  their  preceptor. 
Him  we  asked  for  Don  Andres — that  is,  Father 
Andres  Manjon,  to  whom  Granada  owes  this  admir- 
able labour.  AVe  learned  that  "  the  father "  (how 
appropriate  the  title  sounded)  would  not  appear 
until  midday,  for,  being  a  canon  of  the  Sacro-Monte, 
his  duties  there  detain  him  till  this  hour.  However, 
the  second  in  command  was  sununoned  to  entertain 
us  prior  to  his  chiefs  arrival,  and  show  us  all  the 
carvicncs  and  all  their  occupants. 

While  this  lieutenant  was  being  sent  for  from 
another  garden,  I  marked  the  spot  itself.  Here  and 
there  a  piece  of  the  w'hitewashed  wall  of  one  or  other 
of  the  villas  projected  its  brilliant  surface  from 
between  the  foliage.  Flowers  and  trees  and  bushes 
were  on  every  side,  pleasant  lawns  and  shady  paths, 
and  birds  and  water-courses  in  full  song.  Upon  my 
left,  beyond  a  rustic  bridge  that  spans  a  miniature 
ravine,  I  faintly  caught  the  hivelike  murnun-  of  a 
multitude  of  lips.  Beneath,  the  Darro  twined  in 
graceful  coils,  partly  concealed  by  velvety  leafage. 
Amidst  this  latter  is  the  Fountain  of  the  Hazel 
Tree,  the  favourite  haunt  of  (.'bateau briand,  who 
used  to  liken  it  to  Vaucluse.  Above,  the  huge 
137 


©rana&a 

Alhambra  overshadowed  all,  between  the  Tower 
of  Comares  at  the  western  end,  and,  at  the  other, 
the  slender,  delicately-pencilled  cypresses  of  the 
Generalife. 

The  second  in  command  of  Don  Andres  is  a  com- 
fortable looking,  rather  short  and  rather  stout  eccle- 
siastic, with  a  highish  colour  and  a  small  and  cheerful 
eye — the  kind  of  eye  which  might  arouse  misgivings 
in  a  layman,  but  which  is  always  pardoned  in  a  priest. 
In  any  case  Don  Juan  (to  quote  his  name),  despite  a 
rather  gruff  and  sudden  voice  which  I  suspect  to  be 
somewhat  affected,  is  (juite  in  favour  with  the  young- 
sters, who  stroke  his  hand  and  tweak  his  robe  with 
absokite  impunity,  although  they  venerate  as  well  as 
Jove  him.  The  smallest  child  who  asks  or  answers 
him  a  question,  or  runs  his  message,  must  doff  his 
cap  and  utter  the  semi-talismanic  '■^  Ave  Maria.'''' 
"  En  i>Tac'ia  conceh'ula^''  is  the  prompt  reply  ;  and  only 
then  the  message  or  the  (juestion  is  proceeded  with. 

Don  Juan  conducted  us  across  the  rustic  bridge 
into  a  kind  of  playground.  I  say  a  kind  of  play- 
ground, because,  in  point  of  fact,  it  proved  to  be  a 
schoolroom,  with  stone  benches  raised  along  one  side, 
and  on  the  benches  some  fifty  or  sixty  little  people 
learning  to  count  by  means  of  ninepins  and  blocks  of 
wood.  The  teacher  of  this  class  was  a  girl  from  the 
Albaycin,  herself  an  ex-disciple  of  the  colony. 

I  noticed  that  the  middle  of  the  space  before  the 
benches  was  not  level,  but  raised  into  irregidar  little 
heaps  and  sunk  into  irregular  little  hollows.  "  Here," 
explained  the  padre,  "  we  have  a  map  of  Spain,  with 
all  its  mountains  and  all  its  valleys."  So  saying,  he 
138 


"Cbc  Bvc  /Caiia  Colons 

approached  the  seated   rows  upon   the   beiKhe>,  and 
called  ''  Antonio  Torres." 

Up  darted  an  eao;er-looking  little  boy,  and    pulled 
off'  his  cap. 
"  Ave  Mariay 

"  En  iiTdcia  roiictbida.'''' 

Another  sinnmons  from  the  padre.  This  time 
Alberto  Vega.  Another  eager-looking  little  bov ; 
again  the  countersign. 

"  You,  Antonio,  go  to  Barcelona." 

Antonio,  who,  as  far  as  I  could  gather,  was  some- 
where in  the  Mountains  of  Lechi,  darted  across 
country,  planted  his  foot  upon  the  haughty  city  of 
the  Berenguers,  and  beamed  at  us. 

"  Antonio,  where  are  you  now  ?  "" 

"  In  Barcelona."' 

"  Where  is  Barcelona  ? " 

"  In  Cataluna.'"' 

"  What  is  there  at  Barcelona  ?  " 

"  A  university,  a  bishop,  and  half  a  million 
inhabitants." 

*'  What  else  ? "" 

"  It  is  a  seaport,  and  sends  out  woollens  and  olives." 

"  Now  o;o  to  Madrid."" 

The  scampering  was  repeated. 

"  Where  are  you  now  r  " 

"  In  New  Castile,  in  the  capital  of  the  kingdom." 

"  What  does  it  produce  ?  " 

"  Nothing."  (A  sharp  if  not  unmerited  rebuke  for 
the  court  of  the  Hapsburgs  and  Bourbons.) 

"  Now,  both  of  you,  go  to  Portugal." 

Off  went    the   bold   excursionists,  hand    in    hand. 
139 


©vanaJa 

"  You  have  gone  too  far  :  you  are  standing  in  the 
sea;"  and  the  padre,  with  a  pat  upon  their  .shoulders, 
good-naturedly  redeemed  the  drowning  manikins 
from  the  angry  ocean. 

Next  on  our  programme  was  a  spelling-lesson, 
conducted  something  in  the  fashion  of  a  game  of 
living  chess.  For  this  the  scholars  utilize  a  kind 
of  bib,  extending  both  before  and  behind  their 
bodies,  with  a  hole  for  the  head,  a  letter  on  the 
chest,  and  a  numeral  in  the  small  of  the  back. 
Thus  (unlike,  alas,  those  leaden,  legless  pieces  which 
interpret  me),  sentences  and  words  arrange  and 
disarrange  and  rearrange  themselves  with  winged 
alacrity  ;  each  lettei'  and  each  number  wears  a 
smiling  and  expectant  face ;  spelling  becomes 
gymnastics,  and  literature  a  veritable  pastime. 

Then  we  passed  on  to  other  scenes.  In  <nie  of 
the  upstairs  rooms  a  pretty,  soft-voiced,  brown- 
eyed  girl,  in  the  whitest  of  white  print  dresses,  was 
teaching  geography  to  a  group  of  loving  little 
maids,  who  lavished  caresses  on  her  as  fondly  as 
thou  oh  she  had  been  their  elder  sister.  As  we 
entered  they  broke  into  a  simple  jingle  relative  to 
the  provinces  of  Spain,  a  map  of  the  Peninsula  was 
hanging  on  the  wall,  and  the  learners,  taking  a  wand 
by  turns,  pointed  to  the  regions  being  enumerated 
in  their  artless  little  canticle.  Their  happy  voices 
were  so  insinuative  that  1  asked  to  be  presented 
with  a  copy  of  the  verse :  and  the  pretty  teacher, 
opening  her  desk,  handed  me  one  with  a  blush  and 
a  smile. 

I  believe  that  there  are  more  blackboards  (of  a 
140 


"Cbc  Bvc  /iDarta  Co  Ion  v 

certain  kind)  in  tlic  Ave  Maria  Colonv  than  in  the 
whole  of  Europe.  On  the  wall  of  every  <■«///«'«,  on 
every  pillar  and  post  about  the  gardens,  are  myriads 
of  patches  painted  black,  in  case  an  insj)iration 
should  seize  the  |)Uj)ils  in  their  playtime,  or  the 
master  or  mistress,  as  they  stroll  about  at  in- 
tervals, sui^gest  some  problem  to  them.  On  this 
occasion  a  tinv  yirl  of  six,  catching  up  a  piece  of 
chalk  or  chalkv  stone  from  the  avenue  wheie  she  was 
plaving  hide-and-seek  with  her  schoohnates,  delivered 
a  blackboaici  lesson  in  subtraction  which  niv  friend 
and  I  digested  with  no  small  particular  ))rolit ;  after 
which,  seizino-  a  conn-ade  somewhat  smaller  than  her- 
self,  she  showed  us  with  illustrative  pullings,  pushings, 
and  pinchings,  the  limbs  and  subdivisions  of  the 
human  figure. 

Elsewhere  about  the  Colony  I  spied  the  solar  system, 
cunningly  contrived  with  wooden  balls  revolving  on  a 
set  of  wires  beneath  a  canopy  of  vine;  also,  in  lines 
and  symbols  fixed  into  the  soil,  the  tropics  and  the 
sisus  of  the  Zodiac.  Indeed,  at  every  point  I  saw 
fulfilled  the  precept  of  Montaigne:  "he  shall  not  so 
much  repeat,  as  act  his  lesson.  In  his  actions  shall 
he  make  repetition  of  the  same.""  Here  are  some 
infants  round  a  figured  skeleton,  filling  in  the  bones 
wdth  pebbles.  Yonder,  an  older  and  a  larger  group 
describe,  in  cheerful  strains  of  song,  each  local  Spanish 
character.  One  youngster  takes  the  part  of  Aragonese ; 
"  I  am  the  butiirro  of  Aragdn,  an  honest  man  but 
obstinate,  and  say  no,  and  no,  and  no," — another  that 
of  the  Sevillian— "  So/J  Scv'ilhino,  dc  la  t'wrra  dc  Marin 
Santis'tma.       Viva  la  si'fufe  torcra.""      The    national 

141 


^5l•ana^a 

religion  and  the  national  sport  for  ever  arm-in-arm  ! 
So  even  bull-fighting,  I  notice  with  a  mild  astonish- 
ment, is  not  discouraged  in  this  model  Colony. 

We  reach  another  group — sharp  little  faces  for  the 
most,  in  written  with  all  the  latent  picardia  of  Murillo's 
beggarlings ;  though  these  are  better  mannered.  They 
are,  in  fact,  the  kings  of  Spain,  who  play  at  leapfrog 
as  they  tell  their  stories  to  posterity.  Each  rattles  off 
his  reign  in  turn;  but  he  who  trips  must  "make  a 
back  "  for  his  successor.     Many  a  Gothic  monarch 
with   a  sonorous   mouth-filling  name,  steps  forward, 
not  inopportunely,  to  remind  me  of  his  birth,  and 
exploits,  and  demise.     Between  the  leaping  and  the 
recitation  each  minute  s\vallows  up  at  least  a  century, 
so  very  soon  we  find  ourselves    contemporary   with 
Velazquez,     "I,"  shouts   the  mimic   patron   of  that 
mighty  painter,  looking  all  over  as  if  he  meant  the 
words,  "  I  am   Philip  the  Fourth,  governed  by   the 
Count-Duke  of  Olivares.     In   my  reign  the  Catalans 
rebelled  against  me."    Thus,  as  the  merry  round  con- 
tinues, the  past  declines  insensiblv  into  the  present. 
The  last  to  leap  conveys,  of  course,  the  latest  message. 
His  frame  is  slighter  than  the  rest,  his  voice  weaker, 
his  face  paler.     Poor  child.     He   seems  to   feel   the 
weightiness  of  his  kingship  in  this  age  of  anarchy, 
democracy,  and  socialism.     "  I  am  Alfonso  the  Thir- 
teenth, son  of  Maria  Christina.     I  began  to  rule  in — 
in — .  Then,  faltering  at  the  date,  he  thrusts,  in  token 
of  abdication,  his  tongue  into  his  cheek,  and  bending 
to  a  Carthaginian   antecessor,  sets  back  the  march  of 
history  by  a  trifle  of  two  thousand  years. 

I  was  so  interested  with  all  this  life,  and  gladness, 
142 


■Cbc  Hvc  /ID  a  I- i  a  Co  I  on  v 

and  spontaneous,  novel,  outdoor  scholarship,  that  I 
had  almost  forgotten  my  principal  ambition — that 
of  seeing  and  speaking  with  its  author.  Suddenly, 
however,  while  I  was  intent  upon  the  lesson  in 
genealogy,  "  here  he  is,""  exclaimed  my  friend  ;  and 
looking  up  I  found  that  Father  ^Manjon  was  contem- 
plating me. 

I  had  expected  a  mild,  paternal  face  and  manners. 
Naturally  I  was  disappointed.  Father  Manjon  is 
above  all  else  an  organizer,  innovator,  and  reformer  ; 
and  such  a  character  does  not  dispense  ductility,  but 
on  the  contrary  demands  it ;  the  more  so  in  a  land  like 
this,  where  all  is  prejudice,  ignorance,  and  routine.  The 
face  of  Father  Manjon  is  the  strongest  and  the  deepest 
I  have  ever  seen,  except  Sagasta's.  The  lines  are 
square — square  chin,  square  cheeks,  square  forehead. 
The  mouth  is  equally  firm  and  forceful.  The  eyes  of 
Father  Manjon  were  fixed  upon  and  into  me.  Their 
colour  was  just  a  moderate  brown.  Let  me  upset, 
with  this,  the  novelist's  hallucination  that  a  })ene- 
trating  eye  is  always  black.  Not  necessarily.  It  is 
not  the  colour  of  the  eye  that  penetrates,  but  the 
colour  of  the  brain  behind  it. 

As  soon  as  I  recovered  my  composure,  I  stated  to 
the  padre  my  eager  wish  that  he  would  tell  me  at 
first  hand  the  story  of  his  Colony.  At  once  and 
with  unostentatious  kindness  he  complied;  and  this, 
so  far  as  I  remember,  is  the  substance  of  his  narrative. 
For  many  years  Father  Manjon  had  been  a  canon  of 
the  Sacred  Mountain,  and  also  a  professor  at 
Granada  University.  Now  the  distance  between  the 
two  seminaries  is  not  a  short  one ;  and  even  many 
143 


Oranafta 


years  ago  Father  Manjon's  legs  can  hardly  have 
retained  the  vigour  and  the  elasticity  of  boyhood. 
Consequently,  following  an  approved  and  ancient 
custom  among  the  rural  clergymen  of  Spain,  he 
bought  himself  a  donkey — a  white  donkey,  a  bland 
and  blameless-looking  donkey,  just  as  sacerdotal 
donkeys  should  be.  Haltered  beneath  a  staircase  in 
the  university,  this  donkey  matches  very  creditably 
with  the  snowy  marble  steps,  as  though  he,  too, 
were  treated  to  a  matutinal  scrubbing.  Upon  the 
highroad  all  Granada  recognizes  and  respects  the 
privileged  bearer  of  the  good  and  gifted  padre. 
Such  is  life.  Our  wages  are  augmented  or  diminished 
according  to  the  company  we  keep,  the  service  we 
perform  ;  and  the  faithful  ministers  of  the  famous 
also  collect  their  little  sheaves  of  fame;  cars,  as  it 
were,  spilled  over  from  their  chieftain's  superfluity. 

One  afternoon,  then,  nearly  twenty  years  ago, 
Father  Manjon  was  riding  down  the  corkscrew  ciiesta 
of  the  Sacro-Monte,  when  suddenly,  from  somewhere 
underground,  he  heard  a  number  of  youthful  voices 
nmsicallv  chanting;  their  Christian  doctrine.  Leav- 
ing  his  donkey  by  the  waj'side,  he  set  himself  to 
search  the  adjacent  paths  among  the  hot  and  dusty 
terraces  of  prickly  pear,  until  he  found  the  cave  from 
which  the  harmony  proceeded.  AVithin  the  cave  was 
a  small,  emaciated,  miserably  clad  woman  surrounded 
by  her  pupils,  ten  little  girls,  ragged  and  shoeless, 
some  of  them  gipsies.  On  questioning  "  Mother 
Crumbs,'"'  as  she  was  nicknamed  by  her  charges, 
Father  ]\Ianj6n  was  told  that  she  had  three  children 
of  her  own,  and   no   regular   means   of  subsistence  ; 

144 


"Cbc  Hvc  /n^aria  Colonv 

that  she  held  these  humble  classes  because  she 
beHeved  it  to  be  her  duty  ;  and  that  she  paid,  as 
rentei-  of"  her  cave,  four  pc.srfm  and  fiftv  rcntiino.s 
per  month. 

Such  was  the  oiigin  of  the  Ave  Maria  Colonv. 
The  poor  cave-dweller  was  examined  by  a  board  of 
charitable  ladies  and  pronounced,  for  all  her  method 
and  philanthropy,  a  lunatic.  A\'^ould  that  we  all 
employed  our  lucid  moments  to  as  sane  a  purpose  ! 
In  course  of  time  she  disappeared  from  (iranada,  and 
has  never  since  been  heard  of.  Was  she  perhaps  some 
angel,  and  do  the  acts  of  angels  seem  insanitv  to 
humans?  In  any  case,  her  bright  example  had  fallen 
upon  a  "  towardly  and  pregnant  soil.""  Half-anima- 
ted, half- rebuked  by  her  discovery,  Father  Manjdn 
purchased  a  carjnen  near  the  \er\  cave  where  she 
had  laboured,  engaged  a  (pialified  schoolmistress, 
and  placed  a  class  of  little  girls  beneath  her 
charge.  This  was  in  the  autumn  of  1889.  IJefore 
long,  a  class  of  little  boys  was  handed  over  to  the 
female  teacher's  husband.  "  God  and  the  little 
ones,"  observes  the  noble  author  of  this  noble  effort, 
"have  done  the  rest  between  them.  At  this  day  we 
possess  sixteen  schools  and  eight  houses,  together 
with  their  gardens  and  orchards,  where  the  children 
may  be  educated  in  the  open  aii." 

The  gigantic  success  of  the  scheme  is  due,  as  far  as 
I  can  see,  to  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  needs  of 
modern  Spain,  combinc^d  with  heroic  sacrifice  of  self, 
unflaffii'ino;  viy-ilance,  disinterested -zeal,  and  a  faultless 
and  matured  appreciation  of  the  national  character. 
In  one  of  his  printed  pamphlets  on  the  Colonv, 
145  j£ 


(Sra^a^a 

Father  Man) on  explains  his  method  and  ideal. 
Unlike  the  generality  of  Latins  he  lays  particular 
stress  upon  the  paramount  need  of  physical  side  by 
side  with  intellectual  tuition.  The  body  and  the 
brain  must  ffrow  tojjether  :  hence  the  orchards  and  the 
gardens  of  the  Ave  Maria  ;  for  it  is  easy  to  remove 
the  schoolroom  into  the  open  air,  but  not  the  open 
air  into  the  schoolroom.  "  I  seek,"  he  says,  "  to 
train  my  charges  into  thorough  men  and  thorough 
women,  sturdy  of  frame  and  spirit,  prepared  to 
utilize  their  physical  and  moral  strength  to  benefit 
themselves  and  benefit  their  neighbours."  These  were 
old  truths  in  Germany  and  England,  but  what  do 
they  imply  in  this  Peninsula  ?  A  revolutionary 
through  and  through.  I  dare  affirm  that  no  such 
other  has  been  known  in  Spain. 

"  One  hears  it  said"  (I  continue  quoting  from  the 
padre)  "  that  Granada  is  the  fairest  corner  of  the 
earth,  and  that  her  carmenes  are  so  many  ]iieces  of 
heaven.  Very  well.  In  the  fairest  corner  of  Granada, 
that  is,  the  V^alley  of  Paradise,  close  to  the  city 
gates  upon  the  Sacro-Monte  road,  beside  the  right 
bank  of  the  Darro,  are  situated  our  own  scholastic 
carmenes.'''' 

"  The  six  are  separate,  for  the  sake  of  greater 
order ;  and  yet  they  are  conterminous,  in  order  that 
a  single  mind  may  rule  them  all.  Everything  about 
them  is  ample,  cheerful,  and  wholesome  ;  plenty  of 
open  country  both  for  work  and  play  ;  beautiful 
gardens  to  view^  and  smell ;  clear  and  copious  streams 
for  irrigation,  drink,  and  personal  ablutions;  canopies 
of  vine  and  honeysuckle,  rose  and  passion  flower  to 

146 


Zbc  Hvc  /Caiia  Colotiv; 

part  the  .siinl)L';uiis  ;  massy  trees  to  fiiniisli  tViiit  and 
shade.  The  aii-  is  pure  and  perfunied  ;  one  growth 
of  Howers  siu-ceeds  another  ;  the  birds  compete  in 
son<:f  ;  the  Httle  ones  g-and)ol  as  tliey  will  ;  and  all  is 
health,  and  liveliness,  and  motion."' 

In  every  n)atter  that  concerns  the  Colon v  a  rare 
solicitude  is  shown.  .Vt  midsununer  and  Christmas 
a  suit  of  clothes  is  triven  to  all  the  children.  Thcv 
have  a  drawin<r-school,  where  four  professors  make  a 
present  of  their  services,  and  a  theatre  with  seatin<r- 
rooni  for  Hfteen  hundred  spectators.  Every  Saturday 
they  march  in  |)rocession  round  the  ganlens,  display- 
inj;  their  scarlet  and  white  banners,  sinirini;  sacred 
songs,  and  headed  by  a  band  of  drums  and  cornets. 
They  have  a  volunteer  corps,  perfectly  drilled  and  per- 
fectly uniformed.  Three  or  four  picnics  are  arranged 
annually  for  all  the  scholars,  but  among  the  poorest 
bread  and  meat  are  distiibuted  daily.  Father 
Manj()n  lias  no  sympathy  with  that  stupidest  and 
connnonest  of  boasts  in  Spain,  that  the  Spaniards 
require  less  nourishment  than  other  mortals.  "The 
Spaniards  are  a  people  who  do  not  eat.  They  are 
frugal  from  necessity,  and  saving  to  the  pitch  of 
stinginess.  They  make  their  meals  on  bread  and 
water,  and  practically  fast  the  whole  year  through." 
And  again,  "  the  best  fed  nation  is  that  which  works 
the  best,  and  that  which  works  the  best  is  that  which 
feeds  the  best.     The  two  events  are  interacting.''"' 

Such    is  the  story  of  the  Ave  Maria    schools  as 

it    is    told    me    by    their    author.      W'liile    he     is 

telling  it,  those  happy  little  creatures  gambol  at  our 

side  and    round   about    i.s.      Troops  and    festoons  of 

U7 


©r3na^a 


tiny  girls  trip  in  and  out  among  the  fountains. 
Vibrating  to  their  harmony,  the  water  in  each  marble 
basin  reflects  the  ripple  of  their  laughter ;  roses  and 
jasmine  lie  beneath  their  twinkling  feet ;  tendrils  of 
vine,  convolvulus,  and  honeysuckle  caress  their  faces 
and  their  hair  ;  and  gold  and  silver  sunbeams  peep 
upon  them  from  between  the  branches.  Above, 
around,  the  air  is  odorous  with  almond,  orange,  and 
acacia  ;  pure  blossoms  these,  as  white  as  innocence, 
as  innocent  as  childhood.  A  good  man  delved  the 
garden  years  ago,  and  God  rewarded  him  with  flowers 
and  with  sunshine.  I  glance  towards  my  friend,  and 
he  returns  the  glance.  Either  of  us  is  touched  to 
tears  ;  as  though  divining,  within  this  little  world  of 
candour  and  delight,  the  all-pervading,  all-approving 
presence  of  the  Master. 


148 


The  Fountain  of  the  Hazel  Tree 


XI 

A  Tractate  on  the  Gipsies  of  Granada 

/r  is  possible  to  reiranl  tht-'  Aiulalusian 
gipsy  (as  everything  upon  this  earth 
above  it,  or  beneath  may  be  regarded) 
in  either  of  two  ways — the  serious  and 
the  sentimental,  or  the  humorous. 
For  instance,  it  is  possible  to  regard  him  in  a  sjiirit  of 
lachrymose  lamentation  at  the  superiority  of  our  par- 
ticular morals  over  his,  or,  on  the  contrary,  to  regard 
him  as  a  sprightly  kintl  of  creature,  who  often  swindles 
and  deceives, and  sometimes,  as  a  variation,  even  intro- 
mits a  knife  or  bullet  into  us;  but  always  gives  us 
exquisite  amusement  in  exchange.  Of  course,  to 
realize  this  kind  accommodation  on  the  gipsys  part 
demands  at  least  some  sense  of  humour  on  oui-  own. 

149 


©rana&a 


The  sour,  contentious  tourist  who  pokes,  requesting 
and  requiring,  into  places  where  he  is  not  wanted, 
carries  a  reclamation  ready  in  his  pocket,  and  pesters 
consular  officials  for  redress,  is  not  a  proper  person 
to  be  murdered  by  a  gipsy,  Both  should  be  able  to 
cooperate  in  cheerfulness,  and  set  about  their  busi- 
ness with  a  mutual,  reciprocal,  and  trustful  fellow- 
feeling.  Upon  this  score  I  would  suggest  how  little 
pains  we  take  to  sympathize  with  those  whose  moral 
standard  is  affirmed  (although  by  interested  sections 
of  society)  to  be  less  elevated  than  our  own.  Here 
is,  initially,  a  want  of  charitableness,  and  subse- 
quently a  morbid  aggravation  of  our  self-esteem. 
Goodness,  as  preached  and  practised  nowadays,  is 
just  a  question  of  a  show  of  hands.  Might  is  not 
only  right,  but  righteousness  as  well.  Ages  of  this 
hypocrisy  have  made  it  rare  and  difficult  indeed  to 
analyze  from  within,  the  acts  and  the  emotions  of 
anybody  whom  society  (again  that  hateful  word) 
succeeds  bv  brutal  violence  in  branding  as  a  bad  or 
dubious  character.  Most  of  us  are  so  preposterously, 
preternaturally  virtuous  that  we  do  not  even  care  to 
try.  Even  an  author,  who  normally  should  find  the 
s-enerous  endeavour  worth  his  while,  is  seldom  able 
to  sympathize  with  a  rogue  (I  say  once  more,  con- 
ventionally so-called;  by  putting  himself  into  the 
other  s  skin  and  sentiments,  though  either  of  these 
transmutations  is  essential  to  the  cause  of  common 
justice,  Thackeray,  to  be  sure,  bequeathed  to  us  in 
Barry  Lyndon  the  story  of  a  novelized  rogue  de- 
lineated with  a  certain  intimacy,  and  many  of  the 
incidents  and  reflections  suspended  from  that  hero  are 
150 


B  'Cractatc  on  tbc  Gipsies  of  Ol•nnn^a 

prolmbleand  reasonable  enou<xli  ;  l)ut  it  is  undeniahlv 
superior  to  prevail  upon  a  ro<j,ue  of  flesh  and  blood 
to  set  his  bashfulness  aside  and  tell  us  his  experiences 
himself.  One  of  these  davs,  in  a  noIuiui'  of  Ks.sni/s 
on  Spain  and  the  S/ninianl.s;  I  hope  to  present 
the  doctor  Charles  Garcia,  author  of  'J'/ic  Anncntncss 
and  Xohlencss  nf  Thieving*  a  work  uidx-aten  in 
the  fields  of  innocent  literature  for  iunnour,  ethics, 
and  ])hilosophy  agreeably  intermingled.  But  only 
very  rarely  has  the  unblanied  mem))er  of  society 
the  sense  of  fairness  to  transform  himself  into  a  tem- 
porary rascal,  or  the  permanent  and  re«^ular  rascal 
the  requisite  courage  to  assume  the  privileges  and 
publicity  of  blatant  virtue. 

The  poet  of  the  much  becpioted  verses, 

"  O  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us, 
To  see  ourselves  as  ithers  see  us," 

got  hold  (presumably  on  prosody's  account)  of  the 
wrong  end  of  the  stick.     He  should  have  said, 

"  O  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  iihers  as  they  see  themselves — "  + 

a  task  which  is  a  deal  more  difficult,  and,  when 
achieved,  a  deal  more  interesting,  humanizing  and 
instructive.  In  either  case,  I  claim  commiseration 
for  the  Andalusian  gipsies.  Their  virtues  and  their 
vices  do  not  tally  with  our  own.  Their  hands  arc- 
possibly  quite  as  clean  as  ours,  but  not  so  numerous, 

*  La  Desordenada  Codicia  de  bs  Biencs  Acoios.  Obra  apazibU  y 
curiosa,  en  la  qual  se  descuhren  los  enrredos  y  maranas  de  los  que  no  se 
contentan  con  sii  parte.     Paris,  1619  ;  reprinted,  1S77. 

f  I  can  make  no  rhyme  here  ;   but  this  is  not  my  business. 
Nor,  apparently,  could  Burns,  whose  business  it  was. 
151 


and  therefore  wickeder !  Setting  aside  this  foolish, 
barbarous  prejudice  we  find  the  naked  fact  start 
forth  as  follows.  The  gipsy  race  believe  that  they 
are  doing  right  in  doing  wrong.  If  the  rest  of  the 
world  conformed  to  their  example,  our  present  legis- 
lation would  decamp  to  the  Antipodes,  and  tutti 
would  be,  or  ought  to  be,  content'/.  Even  as  matters 
are,  in  clinging  to  their  doctrine  the  gipsies  do  a 
positive  service  to  ourselves.  Where  would  be  the 
harm  in  wickedness  if  every  one  were  wicked  ?  Upon 
the  other  hand,  where  would  be  the  merit  in  good- 
ness if  every  one  were  good  ?  These  words  are  hardly 
mine — the  classics  bear  me  out.  "  All  opinions,'' 
says  the  Areopagitica,  "yea  errors,  known,  read  and 
collated,  are  of  main  sei'vice  and  assistance  toward 
the  speedy  attainment  of  what  is  truest."  This  very 
juxtaposition  of  vice  and  virtue  is  vice's  best  apology. 
"  Quod  bono  lucinum  honum,  quod  a  bono  remotum^ 
malum.'"  Again,  "  If  every  action  which  is  good  or 
evil  in  man  at  ripe  years  were  to  be  under  pittance 
and  prescription  and  compulsion,  what  were  virtue 
but  a  name,  what  praise  could  be  then  due  to  well- 
doing, whatgramercy  to  be  sober,  just  or  continent  ? "" 
Thus  error,  by  cau'sing,  procreating,  and  fomenting 
virtue,  establishes  her  title  to  a  place  among  the 
virtues,  unless  we  abrogate  all  notion  of  fair  play, 
and  speak  of  her  as  gu'dttj  of  good  actions. 

Father  Manjon's  most  thorny  problem  is  the 
gipsies.  This  brings  me  to  the  gipsies  of  Granada. 
When  they  visited  the  city  first  is  not  precisely 
known ;  but  Gomez  Moreno  has  unearthed  a  quaint 
old  notice  relating  to  them  in  the  reign   of  Charles 

152 


K  Tractate  on  tbc  Gipsies  ot  0^alla^a 

the  Fiftli.*  Oil  the  apjjcal  of  the  aichhishup  of  the 
diocese,  who  complained  in  hitter  language  of  "  the 
nianvEgvptians  who  mix  with  the  Moiiscos,  teaching 
tliem  matters  of  witehcraft  and  superstition,  and 
steaHng  the  clothes  from  their  houses  and  tluir  cattle 
from  their  lands,"' the  emperor  re-estahlislied  a  decree 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isahella.  dated  Madrid,  March  4th, 
1499,  and  beginning  with  these  phrases  :  "To  vou 
Egyptians  who  play  the  vagabond  about  ourking{h)ins 
and  our  seigniories,  together  with  vour  wives,  vour 
children,  and  your  houses,  health  and  grace.  Know 
that  a  report  was  made  to  us,  how  that  of  old  vou 
move  from  place  to  place,  having  no  trade  or  means 
of  livelihood  except  by  begging,  stealing,  bartering, 
deceiving,  and  the  exercise  of  sorcery,  divination,  and 
other  neither  righteous  crafts  nor  honest;  whereas 
most  of  you  are  fitted  to  do  work  and  be  of  service." 
The  edict  says  tliat  thev  must  choose  some  spot  to 
settle  in  and  follow  a  decent  calling,  or  else  in  sixtv 
days  they  are  to  (jiiit  the  kingdom  on  pain  of  losing 
their  ears  or  even  their  libertv,  being  held  to  bomhige 
for  the  rest  of  their  existence. 

This  was  four  hundred  years  ago ;  vet  still  the 
Spanish  gipsy  thrives  and  thieves  as  heretofore.  At 
most  he  settles  in  the  poorest  cpiarter  of  the  town,  or 
even,  as  at  Granada,  in  a  cavern  bv  the  wavside  ;  i)ut 
as  for  industry,  respectability,  and  such  like  trash, 
the  centuries  slip  over  him  in  \ain.  "  Omnvs  fionir 
Jeriunt,''^  observed  the  poet  (iloubtless  before  the  days 
of  the  "Egyptians'");  yet  which  of  the  hours  has 
been    known    to    iiitlic-t    the   slightest    scratch  uj)on 

*  Giii.i  dc  Gianada.  pp.  4O9,  470. 

153 


(5l•ana^a 


the  moral  epidermis  of  the  gipsy  ?  He  has  his  code 
and  sticks  to  it  in  spite  of  parliaments  and  princes, 
establishing,  single-handed,  so  to  speak,  against  all 
comers,  his  claim  to  two  of  our  much-bethumbed 
and  much- belauded  virtues — constancy  and  valour. 
Apart  from  this  he  entertains  (as  he  would  probably 
declare,  on  moral  grounds)  a  permanent  and  perfect 
horror  of  morality. 

Father  Manjcni  is  prejudiced  against  the  gipsy. 
Why  ?  Because  he  tries  to  make  him  not  a  gipsy. 
This  may  be  well  enough  for  the  Utopian,  but  his 
is  not  the  only  standpoint.  Writers  on  Spain,  espe- 
cially the  impecunious,  have  cause  to  thank  the 
gipsies  from  the  bottom  of  their  heart.  Will  any 
one  attempt  to  gainsay  that  the  gipsies  have  contri- 
buted to  Andalusia  about  three-quarters  of  her  pic- 
turesqueness,  indolence,  disorder,  dirt,  and  other 
tourist-drawing,  literature-creating  qualities  ?  Of 
course  not.  Viewed  in  this  light  the  gipsy  is  the 
creditor  of  art  and  letters.  On  this  account,  when 
entering  his  company  we  should  abstain  from  carry- 
ing the  debt  upon  our  person,  or  he  may  possibly 
repay  himself  upon  the  spot,  not  from  improper  or 
felonious  motives,  but  with  hhe  rustic,  correspond- 
ence-saving courtesy  of  his  race.  If  I  owe  to  the 
ir'itano  a  tolerable  jjortion  of  this  chapter,  should  I 
be  justified  in  denying  him,  say,  a  five-pound  note  ? 
Legally,  perhaps,  but  not  on  moral  grounds.  Appre- 
ciative of  this  fact,  on  visiting  a  gipsy  tenement  for 
"  copy  *"  I  never  court  the  smallest  friction  or  un- 
pleasantness, but  make  a  point  of  buttoning  up  my 
watch  beforehand,  so  that  at  least  is  safe.     What  else 

154 


H  "Cractatc  on  Xbc  Olp3ic3  ot  Ol•n^a^.l 

have  I  to  losf  .'  My  <4ipsy  cannot  do  iiu- liaiiii  iij)oii 
the  score  of  money,  for  the  same  reason  wliicli  imjieded 
the  nnniificent,  or  rather  muu'woh'nt,  Sterne  from 
giving  to  all  the  beggars  who  crowded  round  his 
chaise — because  I  have  it  not  to  steal.  Conse{|uentlv. 
is  it  not  true  that,  as  I  hinted  further  back,  the 
pauper  writer  is  even  more  beholden  to  the  gipsy  than 
the  well  to  do,  foi-,  in  the  former  of  these  instances, 
the  gipsy's  toil  is  patently  disinterested  ?  Vet, 
whether  this  be  so  or  not,  I  would  impress  the 
following  lesson  at  first  hand  upon  mv  readers.  '•  Suit 
your  manners  to  your  company"'''  is  practical  enough 
for  stay-at-homes;  but  when  vou  voyage,  •"suit  vour 
purse  to  vour  company  "  is  still  more  practical. 

And  then  the  manners  of  the  gipsy  are  so  easy 
and  so  suave.  He  seems  to  laugh  and  smile  by 
instinct,  and,  as  Macaulay  noted,  always  removes 
his  hat  (or  somebody  else's)  in  passing  bv  a  church  or 
shrine.  His  doings  and  declarations  are  illuminated 
with  the  sunshine  of  good  humour  as  with  a  halo. 
Whether  he  robs  you  or  only  lies  to  you,  he  never 
utters  a  graceless  word  or  executes  a  graceless  act 
ungracefullv  ;  and  even  when  he  murders  is  able,  I  am 
told  by  those  who  know,  to  conjure  up  a  correspond- 
ing smile  upon  the  agonizing  features  of  his  victim, 
who  recognizes  with  his  latest  look  the  truth  of  the 
adage,  "  iiu  hommc  tpi't  nt  nc  .scr(ij(tmn'is  (Ittn^ririi.r." 

The  base  of  this  is  stern  solicitude  for  detail.  ^Ve 
see  the  same  in  all  careers.  An  eminent  physician 
charges  (juite  a  guinea  extra  for  the  way  he  j)ulls  out 
his  watch  or  unscrews  his  thermometer  ;  an  eminent 
dentist  for  the  way  he  hides  (as  well  as  j)lies) 
155 


CBrana^a 

the  fatal  tweezers.  I  know  of  barber-dentists  in 
Madrid  who  actually  clean  the  instrument  before  the 
patient's  eye,  denoting  thus  the  spanless  interval 
between  the  artist  and  the  second-rate  practitioner. 
Dumas,  in  stating  that  Africa  begins  about  the 
Pyrenees,  had  probably  these  barbarian-barbers  in 
his  mind.  But  the  Andalusian  brigand  (now,  alas, 
believed  to  be  extinct),  whom  we  may  classify  upon  a 
level  with  the  doctor  and  the  dentist  1  have  instanced, 
always  began  his  business  in  a  jocular  fashion,  re- 
creating his  victim  with  master  quips  and  cranks, 
while  he  was  tying  him  to  the  coach-wheel.  He 
would  infuse,  too,  a  pleasurable  mystery  into  the 
whole  proceeding.  Will  he  pull  forth  his  snicker-snee 
or  onlv  utilize  his  blunderbuss?  Ha!  he  dips  his 
hand  into  his  sash.  How  prettily  the  sunlight  gleams 
upon  the  blade !     "  The  rest  Is  silence.'''' 

Such  an  artist  was  Jose  Maria,  the  gipsy  and  the 
great  highwayman  of  a  hundred  years  ago.  I  use  the 
adjective  great  with  absolute  premeditation.  Firstly, 
the  best  of  Spanish  brigands  always  came  from  An- 
dalusia. Guichot  and  other  erudite  authorities  on 
brigandism  will  bear  me  out  in  stating  that  no  bungler 
can  be  found  to  have  existed  here.  The  Andalusian 
climate  and  geography  united  with  hereditary  pride 
of  craftsmanship,  piously  bequeathed  from  fathers  to 
their  children, to  render  local  brigandage /io?*confOM/\s. 
And,  secondly,  I  speak  of  the  great  Jose  Maria  upon 
the  cumbersome  though  potent  warrant  of  the  penal 
code  of  Spain,  which  calls,  or  used  to  call,  all  national 
brigands  "  famous,''  whether  from  Andalusia  or  any 
other  region  of  this  countrv  ;  and  what  h  famous  but 

15G 


B  'Cractatc  on  tbc  Oipsics  of  Orana^a 

a  sviiojiyni  for  great  ?  *  The  great  Jose  Maria,  there- 
fore, at  his  death  (unHke  those  less  exalted  characters 
referred  to  by  Mark  .Antony)  bc{|ucathed  the  lx?st 
of  him,  that  is,  the  memory  and  the  modus  opcraudi 
of  his  choicest  crimes,  to  future  generations.  I'n- 
luckily,  the  lapses  of  posterity  have  thrown  his 
venerable  precepts  out  of  joint:  for  even  great  men 
have  to  build  their  fame  in  harmony  with  their  sur- 
roundings, llaihvays  and  Givil  Guards  jiave  spread 
corruption  over  xVndalusia.  To-day  an  honest  brigand 
cannot  venture  armed  upon  the  high  road  without 
being  waylaid  and  assaulted.  So  is  it  that  n)anv  a 
fine  profession  has  been  spoiled  by  progress.  One  of 
such  is  brigandage  ;  and,  thanks  to  Nicholas  and 
other  manifest  peacemakers,  warfare,  a  legalized, 
though  possibly  inferior  form  of  brigandage,  is  pro- 
mising (or  menaciiig)  to  follow  very  shortly. 

Everybody  who  visits  the  Alhambra  is  fated  to 
encounter,  loitering  as  a  rule  between  the  Tower  of 
Justice  and  the  I'alace  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  the 
"prince  of  the  gipsies"  (as  his  visiting  card  informs 
us),  and  therefore  a  direct  descendant  of  the  "  great  " 
Jose  Maria.  IJaptismally,  this  j)ersonage's  name  is 
Mariano  Fernandez  ;  but  he  prefers  to  be  known  by 
the  title  of  C/mrro  c  Jumo.  His  age  is  not  much 
less  than  seventy,  but  he  carries  an  erect  figure  and 
hangs  upon  it,  true  to  a  scruple,  the  classical  habili- 

*  "Este  delito  cometen,  los  que  de  proposito  estan  en  los  caminos  para 
robar,  que  se  Uaman  salteadores,  6  en  el  mar  con  navios,  a  que  Uaman 
cosarios.y  los  unos  y  los  otros  llama  el  derecho,  ladrones  famosos,  par 
lo  qual,  y  porque  tal  hurto  se  comete  de  ordinario  con  mucrte  de  los 
ofendidos,  b  se  da  causa  para  ello,  ticnen  pena  de  »/«(•»/<•,"  — Francisco 
de  la  Pradilla,  Suma  de  Todas  las  Leyes  Penales,  p.  27. 

157 


Oranafta 

nients  of  his  glorious  ancestor.  The  hat  is  of  the 
sugar  loaf  pattern,  with  what  looks  like  a  powder 
puff  on  top.  The  jacket  is  embroidered  in  the  middle 
of  the  back,  and  narrow  breeches  enveloping  the 
shrunk  shanks  of  the  wearer,  decline  with  these  into 
a  pair  of  leather  gaiters,  fringed  upon  the  outside, 
extending  from  the  knee.  In  such  a  dress — perhaps 
the  very  same — Jose  Maria  lived  and  laboured.  Did 
he  design  it  to  amuse  his  victims  ?  If  so,  he  has  an 
added  claim  on  our  regard,  and  De  Quincey's  so- 
called  murderers  are  miserable  amateurs  and  pigmies 
by  the  side  of  him. 

The  visiting  card  of  Chorro  e  Jumo  also  informs  us 
that  he  used  to  serve  as  a  model  to  Fortunv.  "  We 
did  this  ■"  or  "  we  did  that,"  he  says  with  conde- 
scending satisfaction ;  and  at  the  end  of  their  con- 
joint manoeuvres,  "  Don  Mariano  handed  me  a  dollar. 
He  was  a  gentleman,  Don  Mariano  was."  Accent  this 
declaration  where  you  please.  "  He  was  a  gentle- 
man "  ;  he  xvas  a  gentleman "" ;  or,  "  he  was  a  gentle- 
man."'' In  either  case  you  must  infer  that  if  you  do 
the  same  by  Chorro  e  Jumo  as  Chorro  e  Jumo  says 
Fortuny  used  to  do  by  him,  you  also  will  attain  a 
patent  of  gentility.  Perhaps  the  purchase  at  a 
dollar  is  almost  worth  the  making. 

So  Chorro  e  Jumo  is  a  patron  of  the  arts.  Now 
surely  there  is  something  truly  splendid  in  the 
thought  (and  infinitely  more  so  in  the  fact)  of  a  roval 
person  sitting,  at  a  liberally  hyp«»regal  fee,  not  for  his 
portrait  only,  but  for  every  kind  of  genre,  historical, 
bucolical,  and  so  forth.  What  would  Tolstoi  say  if 
his  Czar  dispensed  one-dollar  sittings  to  all  the 
158 


B  "Cractatc  on  tbc  Oipsica  of  Orana^a 

painters  of  his  empire.'  Would  not  so  wliolesome 
and  so  vast  an  aftal)ilitv  entirely  revolutionize  the 
veteran  agitator's  views  on  art  ?  I  am  eonviiued  it 
would. 

Nevertheless,  the  historv  of  C/iorro  c  Juinu  is  a  sad 
one.  lioabdil  used  to  tell  his  sorrows  to  Hernando 
de  liaeza.  In  such  a  spirit  has  Chortu  i-  Jtitiio  told 
his  own  to  me.  His  subjects  are  degenerate  and  un- 
satisfactorv.  IJesides,  he  does  not  even  dwell  among 
them.  Paradox  must  be  treated  nicely  nowadays,  ami 
doubtle.ss  for  this  reason  Daudet  omitted  Churro 
from  his  elegant  romance  ;  yet,  though  the  term  may 
sound  a  triHe  overstrained  and  venturesome,  this  gipsy 
king  IS  just  a  roi  en  exil  who  has  never  stepped  outside 
the  borders  of  his  own  dominion.  No  one  disputes 
his  moral  right  to  the  Alhambra  ;  yet  round  al)out 
him  are  a  people  alien  from  his  own,  who  bend 
the  knee  unblushingly  before  a  mm-^-'itnno  monarch. 
Some  vears  ago  he  had  his  private  palace — a  sandy 
cave  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  mountain,  till  on  a 
day  the  roof  fell  in  and  very  nearly  scjuashed  him. 
Thenceforward  Mariano  hangs  dejectedly  about  the 
moated  grange,  houseless,  lu)}^eless,  homeless,  like 
the  waifs  and  strays  we  read  of  at  the  end  of 
Whitaker.  "  Vnija^'  he  .sometimes  makes  lament, 
with  sad  though  sure  philosophy,  *'  when  a  man  s 
own  house  falls  in  upon  him,  what  in  the  world  is 
left  to  fall  .^  " 

I  have   a  lively  sympathy  for  throneless   C/iorro, 

especially    when    I    fix    my    eyes    upon    his    sugar 

loaf.       My     Welsh     com})atriots     used     to    "ear    a 

similar  one,  till  tvrannous  England  tore  it   oil"  ami 

159 


0  V  a  »  a  J  a 


stamped  it  underfoot— England,  that  in  return  for 
stripping  me  of  problematical  estates  and  dignities 
(which  might  have  come  my  way  had  I  and  Wales 
been  somebody  and  something  else),  has  thrown  to 
me  and  mine  the  paltry  crumbs  of  education,  order, 
and  prosperity.  So,  in  a  sense,  I  am  a  sharer  of  the 
fate  of  Chorro  e  Jumo,  and  shoidd  inscribe  my 
visiting  card  accordingly.  When,  years  ago,  the 
(then)  Prince  of  Wales  passed  through  Granada  (if  I 
may  breathe  the  question  with  befitting  reverence), 
did  not  the  sight  of  Mariano's  sugar  loaf  revive  an 
echo  of  contrition  in  that  royal  breast  ? 

Father  Manjon,  as  we  have  seen,  considers  the 
gipsies  of  Granada  very  seriously.  "  They  are,"  he 
says,  "an  ignorant,  degenerate,  idle,  homeless,  trade- 
less  people,  lavish  of  tongue  and  loose  of  life.  Their 
understanding,  faulty  as  to  any  spiritual  or  abstract 
idea,  quickens  surprisingly  in  dealing  with  the  animal 
or  instinctive  part  of  life,  and  lends  itself  to  lying 
and  deceit,  which  seem  innate  in  them.  Their  will 
power  is  as  weak  and  wavering  as  a  child's  ;  and 
since  it  lacks  all  basis  of  a  creed,  as  well  as  the 
habit  of  welldoing,  their  actions  are  decided  by  a 
momentary  passion  or  caprice.  All  that  requires 
effort,  sacrifice,  apprenticeship,  subordination,  is  re- 
pugnant to  their  character.  Their  one  endeavour  is 
to  pass  their  time  as  free  as  birds,  as  lean  as  stalks 
of  asparagus,  as  careless  as  a  castanet." 

On  the  other  hand,  the  painter-poet  Rusinol 
prefers  to  take  the  gipsies  as  cheerfully  as  they 
take  themselves,  and  even  when  they  swindle  him, 
describes    the    incident  with    great    good    humour. 

IfiO 


H   cr.iLtatc  on  tbc  Oipsics  ot  ^3rana^.^ 

(Jiicc,  wliilf  oil  a  sketc-hint^  expedition  >oiiie«lR're 
near  the  town,  wearv  of  (lra<;gin^  about  his  eohair- 
box  and  easel,  he  determined,  to<^ether  with  some  of 
his  frientls,  to  buy  a  donkey.  'I'he  ^ipsv  fair  was  in 
full  swin<>:  not  far  away  ;  so  thither  the  party  turned 
tlieir  steps.  Arrivino;  at  the  spot  they  found  it 
choked  with  donkeys  of  all  coloui-s,  shapes,  and  si/cs, 
in  every  stage  of  niournfuliiess,  misanthropy,  and 
boredom.  However,  they  j)icked  a  female  out,  and 
asked  her  price. 

"Twelve  dollars,"  replied  a  gij)sv  la>s, '*  but  give 
nie  six,  and  she  is  yours." 

Eventually  the  beast  changed  hands  for  three  ;  vet 
when  the  bargain  was  concluded  lav  doun  in  loglike 
stagnancy.  The  end  of  the  unhukv  transaction  was 
that  Uusinol  and  his  connades  had  to  take  the 
docile  creature  in  their  arms  and  carry  her  home 
with  them,  besides  the  easel  and  the  colour-box  as 
heretofore. 

Nor  is  the  shrewdness  of  this  much  vituperated 
people  employed  exclusively  or  even  preferentiallv 
uj)on  the  Christian.  Whenever  an  op})ortunitv 
occurs,  they  just  as  readily  devote  their  ingenuitv  to 
"besting"  one  another,  as  the  following  tale  will 
show.  A  couple  of  gipsy  pedlars  were  hawking 
brooms  ai)out  the  streets  and  ])l<i::iis  of  (iranada, 
when  one  of  them  called  the  other  to  his  side. 
"Speaking,"  he  said,  "with  |)erfect  frankness,  I 
make  my  l)rooms  myself,  and  steal  my  rushes,  mv 
handles,  and  my  cord  foi- binding.  Nothing  proceeds 
from  me  excejit  the  time  emplowd  in  nwuiufacture. 
\Vith  these  economies  mv  lowest  possibli-  price  is 
IGl  1. 


^5rana^a 

fifteen  cent'unos,  and  yet  you  sell  for  twelve.     How 
{•an  you  do  it  for  the  money  ?  " 

"  Why,"  replied  the  other,  unabashed,  "  you  see  I 
steal  imj  brooms  I'eady-made.'''' 

Nevertheless,  by  reason  of  long  and  intimate 
experience  of  his  weaker  points,  the  Civil  Guards  are 
.sometimes  able  to  outwit  the  gipsy.  Not  long  ago, 
in  a  country  district  near  Granada,  two  members  of 
that  excellent  police  arrested  two  gitanos  on  the 
charge  (backed  by  something  stronger  than  sus- 
picion) of  having  stolen  a  valuable  horse;  and  as 
thev  led  them  in  towards  the  capital,  aj)plied  all 
manner  of  promises  and  threats  to  make  them,  first 
confess,  and  subsequently  furnish  details  of,  the 
theft.  All  was  in  vain.  The  gipsies,  loyal  to  their 
tribal  law  and  custom,  vowed  and  whined  with 
melting  oaths  and  supplications  that  nothing  had 
they  done,  or  seen,  or  even  heard  of  in  the  matter  of 
the  missing  steed.  At  length  the  Civil  Guards  re- 
sorted to  an  artifice  they  had  concerted  overnight, 
in  case  all  other  means  should  prove  of  no  avail.  A 
signal  passed  between  the  two,  and  then  they  halted. 
"  Ride  on,""  said  one  of  them  to  his  mate,  in  tones  ot 
ominous  severity,  "  and  let  us  treat  these  criminals 
as  we  decided."  The  other,  leading  his  prisoner  by 
the  cord  which  bound  his  elbows,  drew  ahead,  over 
the  brow  of  a  hill  some  little  distance  off,  and  out  of 
sight  upon  the  further  side. 

Then  the  one  who  had  remained  behind  dis- 
mounted from  his  saddle  and  bade  his  captive  kneel. 
Trembling  now  with  apprehension,  the  wretch  fell 
forward   on  his  knees.     The  guardia  next  unslung 

162 


B.  ciactatc  en  tbc  Oipaice  c(  Orann^.l 

his  lirio.  Just  at  that  iiionuiit  the  lepnit  of  a 
Mauser  ran<;  out  across  the  hilltoj). 

"  There,^  observed  the  ^Kdrdhi^  '*  I  am  >orrv  for 
it,  l)ut  I  am  obliged  to  do  to  you  what  mv  mate  has 
just  done  to  yours."  He  raised  his  riHe  to  hi>^  shoulder. 
"If  you  wish  to  make  a  short  praver.""  he  a(Med, 
measuring  a  convenient  distance  from  the  bosom  of 
his  victim,  "  I  oive  you  half  a  minute.  ( )v  if.  instead 
of  praying,  you  choose  to  tell  me  all  the  truth,  of 
course  I  still  possess  the  power  to  save  vour  skin."" 

That  skin  had  never  seemed  so  precious  to  our 
gipsy;  and  gazing  at  the  shining  barrel  just  before 
his  nose,  he  left  no  detail  unexplained;  the  hour,  the 
circumstances  of  the  theft,  and  the  secret  whereabouts 
of  the  stolen  animal. 

The  4>-w//y//V/  put  up  his  riHe  and  charitablv  helped 
the  shivering  culprit  to  his  feet. 

••  And  now,""  he  said,  with  a  grim  smile,  •'  let  us 
rejoin  our  comrades,  who  are  waiting  for  us." 


I(j53 


The  Inn  of  the  Little  Mill,  from  the  Hill-side 


XII 

The  Old  Road  to  Guadix 
INLESS  vou  fure  to  tranij).  tlRiv  i> 
only  one  way  of  <^ettini^  to  (iiiadix  l)v 
the  old  road  ;  and  that  is  in  a  gondola- 
But  there  are  gondohis  and  <;()ndola>. 
There  is  the  gondola  which  glides,  as 
I  am  told,  along  the  still  lagoon;  and  then  there  is  tin- 
gondola  of  Spain,  and  more  especially  of  Andalusia. 
drawn  by  two,  three,  four,  six,  eight,  or  anv  available 
number  of  horses,  and  which  toils  and  tund)les  up  and 
down  the  Andalu>ian  hills  and  niountain>/  Mv  gon- 
dola was  of  this   latter  cla^s.  and  as  it   >wcj)t  iK'side 

*  "Gondola.  A  kind  of  carriage  in  which  many  persons  can 
ride  together,  built  in  the  likeness  of  the  boat  so  named." 
— Dominguez,  Dictionary  of  the  Spanish  Lan^uaqc. 


OvanaJa 

the  door  of  the  hotel  at  rather  after  seven,  the  strings 
of  bells  upon  the  harness  made  a  merry  tintinnabula- 
tion in  the  clear  November  morning.  Even  the  driver's 
swear-words  seemed  mellifluous — almost  Arabic. 

We  crossed  the  citv  at  a  long,  soul-stirring  canter, 
down  the  Calle  Mesones,  past  the  university,  past 
the  bull  ring,  and  up  the  slope  that  borders 
San  ^Miguel  el  Alto.  Beyond  the  crest  the  older 
coach  road  to  Guadix  lay  far  ahead  and  far  behind  ; 
our  wheels  were  bruising  it  apace  ;  my  charioteer  was 
tickling  up  the  leader's  ears  in  sjambok  fashion 
with  a  lash  as  endless  as  the  road  ;  and  points  of 
foam  betiecked  the  glittering  carntvra. 

I  looked  at  it  with  curiosity,  almost  with  awe — 
this  old  Ctnii'iHo  de  GikuH.v,  renowned  in  stories  of 
the  past,  when  diligences  scoured  between  the  cities 
day  by  day,  and  wayside  tavern-keepers  handled 
golden  ounces  as  though  they  were  so  many 
peas.  13ut  now,  with  a  train  from  ]Moreda  to 
Guadix,  and  another  train  from  ]Moreda  to  Granada, 
this  highroad  has  become  a  desert,  and  the  diligence  is 
numbered  with  the  dead.  The  Old  Koad  to  Guadlr. 
Is  there  not  something  weird  and  uncommon  in  the 
name  .^  So  many  things  die  out  of  use,  but  surely 
not  a  road.  Is  there  another  in  this  overcrowded 
world,  that  people  traverse  less  and  less  with 
multiplying  generations  r 

Old,  too,  are  scenes  that  add  their  fascination  to  the 
roadway's  ;  the  noria  of  the  ancient  east,  that  irri- 
gates the   fields  ;    the    primitive  plough  ;  *    the  old 

*  "The  construction  of  their  plough  is  remarkable  for  its 
simplicity.      The  handle,  sheet,  and  share  are    of    one    piece. 

166 


Zbc  Ol^  1(^oa^   tc  Ou.iMr 

Sicnu  of  Altacai"  thrustiii*^  a  (■kiir-ciit,  tltep-blm- 
nose  into  the  sky,  as  thouji^h  he  were  some  kiii<;ly 
inuniniv  of"  old  time  ;  the  olden  villa<res  that  ne>tle 
round  his  foot.  The  first  and  lai<j,(st  of  these 
hamlets  is  the  higher  Fargue,  a  coupU-  of  rows 
of  staring  house-wall  wMshed  with  white,  or  pink, 
or  vellow,  and  hung  with  eords  of  searlet  eapsi- 
eum   hke    monster  rosaries  inventeil   for  the   Devik 

This,  with  a  beam  mortised  into  it  and  strengthened  by  a  retch. 
with    two   pins   to  form  the  furrow,  is  the  whole  implement 
Both  the  handle  and  the  beam  are  lengthened  out  by   pieces 
when  such  assistance  is  required." 

"From  a  comparison  of  all  the  ploughs  to  be  found  in  the 
interior  provinces  of  Spain,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  first 
idea  of  this  now  complicated  implement  originated  in  the  use  of 
a  crooked  stick,  pushed  forwards  by  a  man,  to  form  a  furrow  in 
loose  soil.  When  afterwards  he  called  for  the  help  of  oxen,  it 
became  necessary  to  contrive  a  beam,  in  order  to  regulate  the 
line  of  draft,  according  to  the  stiffness  or  looseness  of  the  soil 
and  the  depth  to  which  he  wished  to  move  the  earth.  For  this 
purpose  it  was  needful  that  the  beam  should  be  of  sufficient 
length  to  reach  the  yoke,  that  there  he  might  have  his  point  of 
support  to  be  elevated  or  depressed  as  occasion  might  require. 
In  process  of  time  he  found  it  convenient  to  have  two  pins,  to 
be  placed  in  such  a  direction  on  the  share  as  to  remove  the 
earth  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  and  thus  to  form  a  wider 
furrow  than  the  share  alone  could  trace." 

"Here  then  we  have  the  plough  commonly  used  for  tillage 
in  the  kingdom  of  Granada.  As  for  the  fin  to  the  share,  the 
coulter,  the  fore-sheet,  and  hind-sheet,  the  mould-board,  the 
ground-wrist,  the  drock.  the  bridle  or  cat-head,  with  the  foot 
and  wheel  or  wheels,  they  are  evidently  modern,  and  not  yet 
introduced."  (Townsend,  yoHJ-wo'  tlnoiif;Ii  Spaiu.  1792,  vol.  iii. 
pp.  53,  54  )  Similar  remarks  are  applicable  at  this  moment  ! 
At  the  same  period,  however,  in  north-eastern  Spain  the  art  of 
ploughing  was  more  advanced.  "The  ploughs  here  have  all 
longljeams  as  in  the  South  of  France,  which  reach  to  the  yokes 
of  t'he  oxen,  and  consequently  they  have  no  traces  ;  two  small 
sticks  form  all  the  mould-board  ;  they  plough  all  flat."  (Young. 
Tour  in  Catalonia,  I793-) 

167 


»5  V  a  u  a  ^  a 

Uetweeii  the  villages  are  sprinkled  clean  cortijos,  not 
unlike  the  farmsteads  of  Cape  Colony,  excepting  that 
the  olive  or  acacia  stands  in  place  of  the  repulsive 
though  hygienic  blue  gum.  And  when  the  world 
and  I  were  younger  by  a  dozen  years,  I  saw  those 
trellised  vines  at  Rondebosch  and  Constantia  ;  those 
clear-cut,  deep  blue  mountain-noses  thrust  aloft  at 
Tulbagh,  Worcester,  or  the  Paarl. 

Soon  after  leaving  Huetor  Santillan,  a  cottage 
cluster  girt  with  smiling  gardens,  ihe  scenery  grows 
wilder,  and  the  farms  more  rare.  A  little  further 
back  their  industry  was  bee-keeping,  and  rows  of 
hives,  cane-woven,  lined  with  -lay,  were  ranged 
along  each  wall.  But  here  it  changes  to  esparto, 
a  mean  and  ugly  merchandise,  heaped  shoulder- 
high  in  drear,  disordered  stacks.  Fresentiv  the 
scene  grows  wilder  yet,  all  habitations  cease,  the 
road  approaches  mountains,  then  plunges  in  among 
them.  Beyond  the  pass,  and  where  the  gorges  end 
towards  a  spacious  prospect  of  forest  and  of  field,  lies 
a  caprice  of  nature  known  as  "  The  Teeth  of  the  Old 
Woman  ^ — a  multitude  of  grey  or  tawny  jagged  rocks 
some  four  or  five  feet  high  and  shaped  precisely  like  a 
fang.  The  annals  of  the  brigandage  of  Andalusia 
award  this  horrid  spot  a  lasting  and  a  melancholy 
fame.  Years,  of  course,  have  passed  away  since  last 
the  cry  "  alto  el  coche .'"'^  resounded  from  behind  these 
hungry  looking  crags.  But  few,  I  think,  would  care  to 
pass  them  walking  and  alone,  at  night  time,  even  now. 

I  took  occasion  to  inteiTogate  my  driver  on  the 
subject  of  those  sombre  memories — a  decent  and  in- 
telligent young  fellow  named  Fernando.     His  father 

168 


Zbc  Ol>  Txco  to   OuaMr 


and  his  grandfather  ahke  had  (hiven  the  dili^rinid. 
The  latter,  he  assured  me,  had  several  times  hetii 
corded  to  the   wheel,  for  unless   tliev   were  resisted 


» 


>«^^ 


The  Teeth  of  the  Old  Woman 

the  brigands'  practice  was  seldoni  to  assassinate. 
Of  coui'se,  when  dealing  with  a  strong  purt'idn.  a 
military  escort  only  made  the  situation  worse.  But 
what  could  be  more  critical  than  the  following  ad- 
venture, also  related  to  me  by  my  charioteer.  One 
night  his  father  was  driving  home  an  empty  gondola 
to  Santa  Fe,  with  notes  about  him  from  a  cattle 
purchase  in  Granada.  Crossing  a  bridge,  lie  spied  a 
couple  of  black  figures,  ciouching,  one  on  either  side, 
Avithin  the  shadow  of  the  stonework  at  the  farther 
end.  Suspecting  that  they  boded  him  no  good, 
he  lashed  the  horses  up  and  strove  to  break  away 
by  sheer  speed.  The  two  men  sprang  together 
at  the  reins.  One  of  tliem  missed  antl  fell,  the 
Kil) 


Ovana6a 


wheels  just  grazing  him.  The  other  also  missed 
the  reins,  but  keeping  his  feet  dashed  at  the  back 
of  the  vehicle  and  there  hung  on.  The  handle  of 
the  door  was  new,  and  what  with  the  stiffness,  or  the 
jolting,  or  with  both,  it  would  not  turn  ;  so,  smashing 
the  pane  with  his  fist,  the  brigand  let  the  window 
down  and  proceeded  to  crawl  inside,  in  order  to 
attack  the  driver  at  his  ease.  Aware  of  this,  the 
latter  determined  not  to  incur  additional  danger 
bv  pulling  up,  but  trusting  to  the  horses*  know- 
ledo-e  of  the  road  i>;ave  them  the  lash  once  more 
with  mioht  and  main,  and  fastened  the  reins  to 
the  seat.  Then,  plucking  forth  his  knife  and 
thrusting  it  open  within  his  sleeve,  after  the 
classical  manner  of  this  land,  he  opened  the  other 
window  just  behind  his  box,  and  crawled  in  also. 
Fortunatelv,  his  foe  had  stuck  in  getting  past  the 
frame,  so  that  his  body  hung  inside  the  carriage, 
and  the  rest  of  him  without.  Observing  this,  the 
driver  crept  to  striking  range,  and  drawing  hisfaca, 
gave  a  sweeping  slash  ;  on  which  the  other,  striving 
to  avert  the  weapon,  received  it  full  between  his  fingers, 
and  writhing  desperately  fell  back  into  the  roatl. 

Uj)  to  this  point  Fernando  had  told  his  tale  with 
signal  soberness.  But  since  the  climax  is  emotional, 
no  doubt  he  felt  himself  constrained  to  add  to  it  a 
splash  of  local  colour.  "  As  soon  as  my  father  got  to 
Santa  Fc,  he  found,  scattered  about  the  floor  of  the 
gondola,  four  bloody  fingers ;  wrapped  them  in  a 
piece  of  papei",  and  gave  them  Christian  burial."" 

'■'■En  pa::  descanscn,''  I  murmured  piously — "may 
thev  rest  in  peace."" 

170 


Zbc  Ol^  UvonJ  to  OuaMr 

SlicIi  was  Fernando's  conversation,  always  enter- 
taining, always  pictures(|iie.  Once  he  pointed  to  a 
distant  hamlet  in  the  middle  of  a  lonelv  plain,  saying 


The  Inn  of  the  Little  Mill,  on  the  Old  Road  to  Guadix 


there  was  no  water  for  the  \i Haiders,  and  that  thev 
had  to  fetch  it  from  aff^r.  "  Believe  nie,  Senorito," 
he  added,  "  those  people  look  at  a  glass  of  water  as 
one  looks  at  the  face  of  God." 

He  meant  no  irreverence.  It  was  merely  an 
atHhihcuida  inherited  from  his  eastern  and  Egyptian 
forefathers. 

No  sign  of  human  habitation  lies  between  the  Teeth 
of  the  Old  Woman  and  the  half-wav  house  denomin- 
ated the  \enta  liel  Molinillo,  or  "Inn  of  the  Little 
]\Iill."  immoitali/ed  bv  the  author  of  Dmi   Qn'/.tati:* 

'■'  My   friend,  Don   Miguel   de    Pareja,   says  that  beyond  all 
doubt  this  Venta  del  Molinillo  is  the  very  one  referred  to  by 

171 


C5l•a^a^a 

The  wliite  aubci-ge,  climbed  down  to  bv  a  curl- 
ing, steep  declivity  impassable  in  snowv  weather, 
seems  like  a  homestead  rather  than  a  hostelry. 
Indeed,  it  is  both  one  and  the  other  now ;  and 
looks  just  like  The  Valley  Farm  imbedded  in  a 
landscape  of  Salvator  Rosa.  Frowning  cliff's  are 
all  around;  but  in  the  shadow  of  their  frown 
these  modest  walls  repose ;  a  stream  spanned  bv 
a  rustic  bridge  glides  with,  harmonious  smoothness 
past  the  door;  and  in  the  umbrage  of  some  scarcely 
stirring  poplars  the  ducks  and  fowls  unite  their 
trivial  music  with  the  purhng  of  the  water. 

The  people  of  the  Venta  betray  at  a  glance  that 
they  have  "  come  down  in  the  world."  I  asked 
one  of  the  daughters  (a  foolish  (juestion)  if  the 
suppression  of  the  diligence  had  greatly  injured 
them.  "  Ah,  cahallero,''''  she  replied,  "this  was  pure 
glory  in  the  days  gone  by.  The  gold  flowed  in 
here  then  like  yonder  water  flowing  past  the  door.'' 
The  tears  w  ere  standing  in  her  eyes ;  foi-  in  their 
present  straits  it  was  as  much  as  the  poor  folks  could 
contrive  to  find  me  a  slice  of  ham  and  a  couple  of 
eggs  to  make  my  lunch  upon. 

When  man  and  beast  had  fed  and  rested  we  re- 
Cervantes  in  the  opening  sentence  of  his  Kinconetc-  y  Cortadillo, 
thus  :  "At  the  Venta  or  hostelry  of  the  Molinillo,  which  is  situate 
on  the  confines  of  the  renowned  plain  of  Alcudia,  and  on  the  road 
from  Castile  to  Andalusia,  two  striplings  met  by  chance  on  one 
of  the  hottest  days  of  summer,"  &c.  In  his  monograph 
Cervantes  en  Granada,  Sr  Pareja  points  out  that  although  there 
are  several  Alcudias  in  Spain — three  in  the  Balearic  Islands, 
two  in  the  Province  of  Valencia,  one  in  the  Province  of  Almeria, 
and  one  not  far  from  Guadix,  this  last  alone  fits  in  with 
Cervantes'  description. 

172 


Cbc  Ol^  •Ko.l^  to  Oll;l^lr 

sunic'd  our  way,  skirtiiii;-  tlif  woods  and  iiioimtuiiis 
of  this  lonely  land,  until,  mounting-  a  ion<r  ascvnt, 
we  swept  upon  the  liandet  of  Die/nia.  From  the 
panic-stricken  air  with  which  the  viilati;ers  removed 
their  chairs  from  the  midcMe  of  the  street,  they 
showed  that  their  ears  had  ceased  to  he  accustomed 
to  the  sound  of  wheels.  Formerly,  I  take  it,  thev 
merely  dozed  within  the  doorway. 

It  was  at  Diezma  that,  exactly  one  hundred  and 
seventeen  years  ago,  a  highly  uncomfortahle  occur- 
rence befell  the  Reverend  Joseph  Townsend,  "Rector 
of  Pewsey,  Wilts;  and  late  of  Clare  Hall,  Cam- 
bridge." "  The  village  as  now,"  he  tells  us  in  his 
Jounieij,  "  comprised  about  one  hundred  and  si'ventv 
families.  As  I  travelled  the  whole  day  fasting,  I 
hastened  to  the  butcher's  to  see  what  was  to  he  had. 
There  I  learnt  the  price  of  provisions,  and  that 
mutton  sold  usually  for  twelve,  beef  for  eight  (piartos 
(twopence  farthing)  the  pound  of  sixteen  ounces ; 
bread  for  six  and  a  half.  For  wine  I  paid  thiee 
(juartos  the  {juartillo.  liut,  unfortunatelv,  neither 
beef  nor  mutton  were  to  be  had;  and,  to  fill  up  the 
measure  of  my  consolation,  at  the  posadd  I  coukl 
obtain  no  bed,  nor  yet  a  room."' 

"  What  could  be  done  .?  The  (Uiy  was  closing,  and 
it  began  to  rain.  The  alcalde  was  to  besought  for; 
but  he  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  At  the  end  of  a 
long  search,  I  met  him  returning  from  the  field,  antl 
after  a  short  salutation,  presented  him  mv  pass  ;  vet 
to  little  purpose,  for  he  could  neither  write  nor  ri'ad. 
We  went  next  in  pursuit  of  the  c-strihinio^  but  he  was 
not  at  home.  At  last,  however,  we  found  a  peasant 
173 


^3l•ana^a 

who  had  learned  to  read  and  write.  The  pass  was 
produced,  and  su})niitted  to  an  accurate  examination. 
It  required  that  I  should  be  provided  with  every- 
thing needful,  at  a  reasonable  price.'' 

"  The  alcalde  having  listened  to  it  with  attention, 
inquired  what  I  wished  to  have.  I  replied,  a  bed. 
A  bed  !  No  such  thin^'  is  mentioned  in  the  pass. 
But,  if  vour  merev  will  have  the  goodness  to  observe 
the  expression,  everytlihig  needful.  No,  no,  a  bed  is 
not  needful  to  a  traveller  ;  he  may  do  very  well  with- 
out one.  I  told  him,  with  great  humility,  that  it  was 
for  his-  tiierc//  to  judge  of  what  the  pass  implied,  and 
began  quietlv  to  retire;  when,  seeming  to  recollect 
himself,  he  ordered  a  billet  to  be  made  out." 

"  With  this  I  went  to  my  destined  cottage,  where  a 
bed  was  spread  upon  the  Hoor,  and  I  went  supperless 
to  rest,  having  had  little  for  the  whole  day  but  some 
hard  eggs,  and,  for  the  want  of  a  corkscrew,  such 
wine  only  as  the  vineyards  in  the  neighbourhood 
produced.'"' 

"  The  next  morning  the  good  people  of  the  house 
prepared  mv  chocolate,  and  when  I  was  to  take  my 
leave  no  persuasions  could  prevail  on  them  to  accept 
of  money  for  iny  bed." 

Even  to-dav  one  meets  some  comical  Spaniards 
who  like  that  Mayor  of  Diezma  can  neither  read 
nor  write.  I  know  of  an  Andalusian  town  where 
even  the  postman  is  without  these  arts ;  and  so, 
unable  to  deliver  the  letters  from  house  to  house, 
he  throws  them  in  a  heap  upon  the  mayor's  table 
in  the  townhall,  where  the  populace  assemble  to 
take  their  pick  of  them.     In  consequence  of  this  ex- 

174 


Zbc  Ol^  •Koa^  to  CMl.^^lv 

traordiiiary  custom  uverv  one  knows  i-verv  oik-  cNe's 
business — who  lias  had  a  letter  from  lier  swc-etheait, 
who  from  her  s())i  in  South  America,  and  so  on  ;  and 
every  mail  provides  a  paradise  for  tonguester>  with- 
out number. 

Beyond  I)ie/ma  the  scene  is  uniform  and  Hat, 
until  the  curling  road  leads  down  upon  a  tract  un- 
utterably desolate,  uiuitteral)lv  s(rani;e.  'I'he  sinface 
ofthelandis  smoothed  completelv  level  ;  but  hei'eand 
there  some  miohty  cataclysmic  force  has  opened  a 
tremendous  <rash  extending  many  miles.  The  sides 
of  these  gashes  appear  to  have  been  moulded  bv 
some  human  architect,  and  counterfeit  with  wonder- 
ful exactitude,  at  one  point  battlements  and  bas- 
tions; at  another,  rows  of  niches;  and  at  a  third, 
the  "  stalactite  decoration "'  of  the  Saracens.  The 
colour  of  this  weird  tract  is  ashen  grey  combined  at 
intervals  with  terra  cotta ;  but  at  its  boundary 
the  gashes  alternate  with  rows  of  whitish,  fang- 
like peaks,  from  fifty  to  a  hinidred  feet  in  height— 
a  kind  of  magnified  replica  of  the  "Teeth  of  the 
Old  AVoman."  * 

Two  miles  before  Guadix  we  reached  the  village  of 
Purullena.  A  few  of  the  Purullenians  live  in  cottages  ; 
but  by  for  the  greater  number  are  cave  (lweller>,  and 
scoop  themselves  abodes,  such  as  hobgoblin>  might 
inhabit,  among  the  pits  and  the  protuberance^  of 
the  landscape.  I  even  saw  a  farm  so  scoo|)ed. 
whose    chinniey  projected    from  a   mound    a    do/en 

*  For  a  technical  notice  of  these  geological  phenomena,  see 
Dr.  Von  Drasch's  report  on  the  geology  of  the  Sierra  Nevada, 
in  the  sixth  volume  of  the  Bolctin  de  la  Comision  del  Mafa  Gcolbgico 
dc  Espaha,  Madrid,  1S79. 

175 


©ranaJa 

yards  within,  lender  this  prehistoric  system  there 
is  no  landlord  and  no  rent,  but  only  a  trifling  tax 
imposed  by  Government;  and  one  of  the  hobgoblin- 
looking  tenants,  to  whom  I  bawled  some  questions 
from  my  carriage,  shrilly  assured  me  that  he  enjoys  a 
delectable  temperature  in  every  weather,  and  at  every 
time  of  year. 

However  this  mav  be,  the  weirdness  of  the  spot 
reduces  the  traveller  (or  at  least  it  did  myself)  to  a 
state  almost  of  stupor ;  and  when  we  rolled  into 
Guadix,  I  wondered  whether  I  had  awoken  from 
one  of  Knatchbull-Hugessen's  fairy  stories,  such  as 
enthralled  me  in  my  uncle's  hayfield — was  it  yester- 
day, or  was  it  twenty  years  ago  ? 


176 


A  Wayside  Wine  Shop 

XIII 

Guadix 
LITTLE  old  niu.stv,  iiistv  citv, 
sc-attered  alon<r  a  hillside  lookiiiir 
north,  and  therefore  shelterless  and 
bleak;  entered  thr()u<^h  the  pite  of 
San  Torcuato,  a  inedia-val  fabric  that 
has  lost  all  vestige  of  a  door  ;  such  is  Guadix,  the 
Jcci  of  old  Rome,  whose  occupants  concern  them- 
selves but  little  with  the  freaks  and  frailties  of  time, 
and  live  and  do  and  die  as  in  the  doughtv  davs  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  or  even  of  the  Homaiis,  or 
Ph(enicians,  or  the  IJastitani,  or  the  liastitaiii's  an- 
cestors, as  far  away  as  Tul)al,  Hi  ic  iilcs,  and  Adam. 

Even  the  Reverend  Townsend,  who   finds   j)erlia|)s 
too  uuich  to  say  of  most  things,  from  the  formation  ot 
1 77  M 


nitre  to  the  expulsion  of  the  Moriscos,  or  the  history 
of  locusts  to  the  breezes  of  the  Mediterranean, 
is  very  nearly  mute  upon  the  subject  of  Guadix. 
He  has  my  sympathy — the  more  so  at  this  opening 
of  my  chapter,  when  nineteen-twentieths  of  it  stare 
me  blankly  in  the  face  like  so  many  leagues  of  road 
without  a  vehicle  to  cover  them.  In  two  respects, 
our  clerical  tourist  has  the  better  of  me.  Guadix 
in  his  day  was  embellished  with  an  avenue,  and 
famous  for  its  power  of  producing  knives.  "  At  the 
entrance  to  the  city,""'  he  wrote,  "  is  the  alameda 
or  public  walk,  well  planted,  and  remarkable  for 
neatness.'"  I  have  seen  this  alameda,  or  rather  what 
is  left  of  it,  and  nothing  in  the  whole  of  melancholy 
Spain  is  more  profoundly  melancholy.  It  lies  beside 
the  river  bed  or  rambla,  a  ruinous  fountain  in  the 
midst  of  it,  a  ruinous  row  of  elms  on  either  side — un- 
kempt, unwashen-looking  elms,  shin-deep  in  drifted 
sand.  Within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  endmost  tree  is 
the  wretched  city  gateway,  and  a  wretcheder  posada* 
and  opposite  to  these  a  farrierv  for  horses,  asses, 
mules,  and  bulls.  \\'hile  putting  on  his  shoe  the 
bull  is  thrust  into  a  kind  of  skeleton  bathing-machine, 
with  a  band  round  his  belly  and  ropes  round  his  legs. 
Yet  even  thus  he  contrives  to  deal  some  very  creditable 
kicks,  which  do  him  all  the  greater  honour,  seeing 

*    The  comparative  standing  of   Spanish  places   of  rest   and 
refreshment  for  man  and  beast  may  thus  be  represented  : 
Hotel  =  Duke, 
Fonda  =  Marquis, 
Posada  =  Earl, 
Meson  =  Viscount, 

and 
Venta  =  Baron. 

178 


Oua^il• 


that  tliis,  as  Biiffbn  would  step  forward  to  apprise 
us,  is  not  liis  customary  mode  of  combatiii<i;. 

The  streets  of  Guadix  are  narrow  and  mispaved 
and  steep,  but 
in  the  n)idst  of 
them  is  the 
cathedral,  a 
solid  and  un- 
graceful struc- 
ture of  the 
eighteenth  cen- 
tury. Townsend 
affirmed  it  to 
contain  "  three 
orders  of  archi- 
tecture, Corin- 
thian, ('oni):)o- 
site,  and  Anoma- 
lous." I  fancy  I 
descried  about  a 
hundred.        As 

for  the  knife  manufacture,  I  saw  no  sign  of  it. 
Townsend,  on  the  contrary,  saw,  or  was  made  to  see, 
more  than  he  cared  about.  "'  The  article  for  which 
this  citv  is  most  celebrated  being  |)ocket  knives,  the 
first  attention  of  my  guide  was  to  purchase  one  ;  and 
when  we  set  forwards  on  our  journey  the  succeeding 
day,  he  j)roduced  it."' 

"The  blade  was  sixteen    inches  long,  and   wjien 

open   it  was   prevented   from    shutting    again    by  a 

strong  spring.     Although  this  was  the   first  of  the 

kind  I  had   ever  seen,  mv  imagination   imuiediatelv 

l'79 


The  Gateway  of  Guadix 


l5rana^a 

suggested  the  purpose  for  whicli  it  was  designed. 
Having  produced  his  weapon,  he  began  to  brandish 
it ;  then,  supposing  himself  to  have  been  suddenly 
attacked  by  some  one  armed  with  an  implement 
similar  to  his  own,  he  stooped  forwards,  bending  his 
knees,  and  holding  his  hat  before  him,  by  way  of 
shield,  in  his  left  hand ;  whilst  his  right  hand,  de- 
pressed and  grasping  hard  the  handle  of  his  knife, 
directed  its  elevated  point.  Thus  prepared,  and 
casting  a  look  of  fury  on  his  supposed  antagonist,  he 
sprang  forwards,  and,  appearing  to  have  received  in  his 
hat  the  thrust  of  his  opponent,  he  gave  the  fatal  blow, 
which  was  to  enter  at  the  lower  belly,  and  in  one  in- 
stant to  rip  up  the  miserable  wi'etch  from  end  to  end." 
"  These  knives  are  strictly  forbidden  ;  but  unfor- 
tunately, inveterate  custom  is  too  strong  for  human 
laws,  more  especially  in  a  country  where  the  passions 
are  easily  inflamed ;  and  where,  from  the  nature  of 
the  judicial  process,  the  laws  must  be  weak  in  the 
extreme.  For,  as  we  have  remarked  already,  no 
information  can  be  taken  but  by  the  escnvanos^  nor 
can  any  judgment  be  pronouni^ed  but  upon  their 
record.  Now  as  these  officers  are  usually  poor,  and 
not  unfrequently  destitute  of  principle,  they  may, 
without  much  difficulty,  be  persuaded  to  change  the 
complexion  of  an  action,  and  at  pleasure  to  make  it 
either  black  or  white.  Hence,  from  impunity, 
assassinations  are  frequently  committed ;  and,  as 
little  security  can  be  derived  from  the  laws,  it 
becomes  the  interest  of  every  man  to  be  armed  for 
his  own  defence.  With  this  view  only  he  procures 
the  formidable  weapon ;  but,  when  provoked  to 
180 


(3  u  a  M  r 

anger,  his  views  are  changed  ;  that  wliich  was  de- 
signed for  Ids  own  protection  becomes  the  insti'u- 
inent  of  treachery,  of  maHce,  and  of  revenge."  * 

My  Uxlging  at  Guadix,  near  enough  to  the  cold 
ground  for  nie  to  see,  and  smell,  and  taste,  and  feel 
the  damji — all  four  sensations  simultaneously — was 
in  a  humbleyb»f/a,  whose  name  I  shall  conceal.  The 
rooms,  although  they  had  no  carpets  and  scarcely  any 
furniture,  were  habitable  at  a  pinch  ;  but  the  only  note 
of  cleanliness  about  the  slovenly  ]\Iaritornes  was  the 
white  chrysanthenunn  in  her  hair.  When  I  had  washed 
with  neither  soap  nor  towel,  nor  anvthing  but  water 
(and  barely  a  tliind)leful  of  that),  I  sought  the  dark 
and  dingy  dining-room.  Alas  poor  tom^r/orf*,  I  know 
them  well ;  the  oilcloth-covered  table,  the  coarse 
cutlery,  the  thick  glasses  and  bottles,  the  crab-shaped 
rosea  of  bread  upon  each  plate,  the  flower-stand  in 
the  centre,  composed  of  half  a  dozen  simple  stands  of 
graduated  sizes.  The  chromo  on  the  wall — a  semi- 
naked  damsel  feeding  from  her  carmine  lips  a  parrot  of 
a  poisonous  green — proclaims  the  excellence  of  such 
and  such  a  starch,  or  such  and  such  a  brandy ;  and 
thrust  into  the  libellous  looking-glass  are  several 
dirty  business  cards. 

It  is  the  custom  in  communicative  Spain  to  speak 
to  every  stranger  vou  may  meet,  except  an  English- 
man (who  seldom  answers  if  he  does  not  know  the 
language,  and    still    more  seldom    if  he    does) ;    so 

*  I  am  sorry  to  observe  that  this  state  of  things  has  not 
mended  very  greatly.  The  use  of  the  sixteen-inch  blade  which 
the  Reverend  Townsend  euphemizes  as  a  "  pocket-knife,"  is  still 
"inveterate";  still  escrivanos  are  "usually  poor,"  and  still  by 
far  too  frequently  devoid  of  principle. 

181 


Ol•ana^a 

presently  my  tongue  was  wagging  with  the  rest.  I 
could  have  told  the  company  before  I  set  my  eyes  on 
them.  Of  course  there  were  a  couple  of  commercial 
travellers,  a  priest,  and  the  inevitable  old  gentle- 
man retired  on  a  pension  from  the  service  of  the  state, 
afflicted  with  blindness,  deafness,  lameness,  asthma, 
indigestion,  imbecility,  and  other  ailments  and  diseases. 
It  would  have  been  kinder  to  have  put  him  out  of  his 
misery  upon  the  spot,  as  Professor  somebody  or  other 
recommended  at  a  conference,  or  in  an  article,  not 
many  months  ago. 

If  I  exclude  this  invalid  we  made  between  the  four 
a  small  yet  eminently  sprightly  party.  Nevertheless, 
my  attention  was  from  time  to  time  distracted  by  a 
pale  faced  little  girl  of  seven  or  eight,  who  waited 
on  us  to  the  best  of  her  diminutive  power.  I  had 
asked  about  her  on  the  landing,  just  before  the  meal 
began.  "  She  is  only  distantly  related  to  us,"  the 
landladv  had  answered,  in  harsh  tones  ;  "  we  took  her 
in  for  charity  " ;  and  emphasizing  charity  she  dealt 
the  child  a  violent  cuff  on  the  side  of  the  head. 
Upon  the  cuff  I  superposed  a  kiss,  deeming  it  prudent 
for  the  little  sufferer's  sake  not  to  interfere  by  word 
of  mouth.  She  took  both  cuff  and  kiss  with  mute 
indifference ;  and  I  saw  that  she  was  unaccustomed 
to  the  one,  while  to  the  other  she  was  all  too  much 
accustomed. 

But  when  dessert  was  nearly  ended,  we  heard  out- 
side the  room  the  noise  of  a  smashing  plate,  followed 
by  a  scuffle  and  a  shower  of  blows  and  cries.  At 
length  one  childish  cry  pealed  out  above  the  rest :  "  If 
my  mother  were  alive,  you  never  would  treat  me  so."" 
^  182 


(3ua^ir 


"  //!""  Alas,  there  was  a  woild  of  nieaniii^  and  of 
pathos  in  that  microscopic  word  ;  for  rnii^htv  proljlenis 
agitate  an  infant's  brain.  ^Vhene\•er  a  child  com- 
plains with  reason,  providence  accords  to  him  or 
her  a  swift,  incisive  logic  that  is  harrowing  to  listen 
to.  For  it  is  terrible  to  hear  a  child  cry  ;  but  it  is 
far  more  terrible  to  hear  it  exjilain  its  sorrows. 
Above  all,  in  the  childish  mind  the  sense  of  some- 
body or  something  lost  or  absent  is  poignantly 
severe.  Is  any  grief  so  great,  so  real.,  as  that  of  a 
broken  doll  ?  The  passions  of  children,  stronger 
as  well  as  purer  than  our  own,  pulsate  with  all 
sincerity  (for  pose  is  but  the  aftergrowth  of  more 
corrupted  if  maturer  years) ;  and  then  their  corporal 
prison  is  a  narrower  one  than  ours. 

I  looked  at  the  padre.  He  looked  at  me,  winked, 
grinned,  and  cracked  a  walnut. 

The  cries  and  blows  continued.  Again  I  looked 
at  the  paihr.     He  was  picking  his  teeth. 

The  sobbing  and  ejaculations  died  away.  From 
the  quiet  which  ensued  there  might  have  been  a 
murder.     For  me  a  murder  had  been. 

I  looked  at  the  padre  for  a  thiid  time.  He  had 
risen  now,  and  was  taking  out  a  pack  of  cards  from 
behind  the  mirror. 

"  PobrecUla,^''  I  cried  with  unfeigned  anguish  ; 
"  que  infdinefi ! ''' 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  rejoined  the  jxidre  suavely 
and  with  just  the  shadow  of  a  sneer  ;  "  the  child  is 
very  naughtv."  He  shuffled  the  cards,  sat  down, 
and  dealt  them  into  several  heaps.  He  was  play- 
ing patience. 

183 


(5l•ana^a 

So,  without  a  pack  of  cards,  was  I. 

Disgusted  with  the  scene  I  walked  into  the  street 
and  thi'ough  the  town,  discovered  the  gambling 
hell  denominated  the  Liceo,  went  over  it,  and 
came  away  with  fresh  dejection.  However  little 
of  our  college  Greek  and  Latin  may  yet  survive 
in  us,  we  still  incline  to  mentally  connect  I^yceums 
with  literature  and  other  things  polite.  But  here 
the  air  is  fetid  with  roulette  and  monte.  Therefore 
the  only  art  indulged  in  is  that  of  rifling  the 
pockets  of  the  simple  or  the  vicious ;  and  yet 
there  is  a  library,  consisting  of  perhaps  three 
hundred  volumes,  locked  away  into  a  corner,  so  as 
not  to  obstruct  the  jj;amino:-tables.  A  chance 
acquaintance  showed  me  to  these  unthumbed  tomes. 
"  We  have  all  the  English  classics,"  he  said  ; 
"Makalay"  (with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  lay)^ 
"■  Shesspeer,  and  the  rest.""  At  least,  I  think  this  was 
what  he  said,  for  I  only  made  out  his  vvords  across 
the  rattle  of  the  dicebox,  and  those  most  unliterary 
and  un-Lyceum-like  epithets  which  as  a  rule  accom- 
pany a  luckless  cast. 

That  night,  when  all  the  lodgers  of  my  inn  had 
sought  their  rooms,  the  beating  was  lenewed.  Once 
more  that  dreadful  wail  arose  across  the  darkness  : 
"  O  if  my  mother  were  alive,  you  would  not  dare  to 
beat  me  so." 

"Strange,"  I  muttered.  "No  commentator  has 
yet  revealed  to  us  how  nuich  of  Scripture  is  ironical." 
The  blows  and  cries  continued.  Angry  and  (doubt- 
less) impious  reflections  surged  into  my  heart ;  for  it 
is  ever  in  the  heart  that  sensitive  persons  do  their 

184 


O  u  a  ^  i  v 

reasoninj^.  "  After  all,"  I  thouj^ht,  coveriiif^  my  ears 
with  the  bedclothes,  "  He  wlio  claims  to  temper  the 
wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,  let  Him  temj)er  thisT' 

My  dreams  were  troubled,  altlioiiiih  a  ^lain  of 
consolation  was  in  store  for  me.  Hjjon  the  niorrow, 
while  I  breakfasted,  a  decently-dressed  youth  rushed 
in  witii  an  armful  of  old  books  and  Hunt;-  them  on 
the  table. 

"There,"  he  cried,  "you  may  take  yoiu"  pick. 
They  tell  me  you  are  fond  of  such  old  thin<;s." 

The  first  that  came  into  my  hand  was  Perez  del 
Pulgar''s  Chron'nlc  of  the  Cdtholic  Sovcrc'ign.s^  Sara- 
gossa,  1567,  black  letter,  with  the  wonderful  en- 
gravings of  that  period. 

"  What  do  you  want  for  this  .^  " 

"  Whatever  you  like  to  give  me." 

"  Better  name  your  price." 

"  No,  Senor,  I  leave  the  price  to  you," 

"  \'erv  well,  I  couldn't  give  you  more  than  a 
dollar  ;  but  I  warn  vou  the  book  may  be  worth  a 
good  deal  more." 

"  Or  less." 

The  grin  which  accompanied  this  startling  state- 
ment excused  my  Hinging  conscience  to  the  winds  ; 
so  I  paid  the  five  pesetas  and  clutched  my  bargain. 

We  parted,  I  am  sure,  with  mutual  disdain,  the 
vendor  of  the  volume  despising  me  for  giving  him 
too  much,  and  I  him  for  accepting  too  little. 


185 


In  the  Albayciiii 

XIV 

A  Night  in  the  Albaycin 
EYOND  the  northern  bonier  of  the 
Darro,  and  yet  within  the  echo  of  his 
waters  and  the  shadow  of  his  boskage, 
rises  a  steepish  hill  confionting  the 
Aihanibra,  and,  covering  this  hill 
from  crown  to  base,  the  Albaycin.  few  tourists 
penetrate  the  Albaycin,  though  numbers  cast  a  care- 
less glance  upon  the  old,  historic  quarter  from  the 
parapet  of  the  Place  of  Cisterns,  or  the  lordly  win- 
dows of  the  Tower  of  C'omares.  A  thousand  years 
have  set  its  houses  up  and  thrown  them  down,  and  set 
them  up  and  thrown  them  down  once  more,  so  often 
that  Time,  one  thinks,  at  last  is  weary  of  his  work, 
and  even  the  ruins  seem,  as  himself,  perpetual. 
Ruins,  indeed,  they  are,  yet  not  inanimate.  They 
187 


©rana^a 

seem,  I  say,  to  have  outgrown  the  grasp  of  death, 
respiring  with  a  subtle  dignity  the  pride  of  ancient 
days,  the  Hfe  and  legends  of  the  past.  So  in  a  quiet 
and  a  reverential  mood  we  must  approach  them.  Then 
they  will  whisper  to  us  all  their  secrets  ;  and  we  shall 
find  that  in  these  crumbling  palaces  and  unkempt 
gardens,  hidden  away  like  stores  of  jewels  in  a  cave, 
are  half  the  glories  of  Granada. 

There  is  an  air  about  the  Albaycin  that  belongs 
to  it  alone  ;  at  least  I  am  aware  of  nothing  even 
faintly  similar  in  other  parts.  Here,  joined  in  closest 
union,  are  wealth  and  penury,  humility  and  haughti- 
ness, the  orient  and  the  west.  Within  the  limit  of  the 
Albaycin  the  Christian  church  combines  with  the 
aljama,  themansionof  the  Christian  noble  clings  about 
the  courtyard  and  the  columns  of  the  Moor.  In  either 
instance  both  together,  locked  in  a  last  embrace,  are 
falling  to  decay,  although  they  do  not  seem  to  fall. 
Already,  wondering  at  the  haunted  silence  of  these 
lanes,  and  tenements,  and  temples,  we  tread  upon  the 
ashes  of  two  peoples  and  two  creeds,  though  vines 
and  blossoms  caress  the  wrinkled  walls  like  fresh-cut 
wreaths  upon  a  grave,  while  here  and  there  projects 
the  cypress,  starkly  desolate.  These  contrasts  have 
at  any  hour  and  any  season  a  sweet  and  subtle 
magic  ;  but  best  of  all  observe  them  by  the  April 
or  October  moon.  It  is  my  custom  then  to  plunge 
into  the  threadlike  alleys  of  the  old  faubourg,  and 
clamber  up  them  to  the  open  space  before  Saint 
Nicholas.  The  drooping  beams  fall  full  upon  the 
distant  snows  of  the  Sierra ;  fall  upon  masses  of 
indigo  foliage  and  russet  church-towers  ;  fall,  too, 
188 


B  HAiiibt  in  tbc  Hlbavcin 


upon  the  purpk-  foothills,  and  the  ruddy  pile  of  the 
Alhanibra  opposite.  \\'hen  all  of  these  grow  dim  I 
often  cross  the  sunuiiit  of  the  Alhavcin  to  watch  the 


The  Casa  del  Gallo 

last  reful.tj;ence  from  the  city  wall.  Mv  favourite  way 
to  this  lies  past  the  Casa  del  Gallo,  once  the  palace 
of  the  kingling  Badis  ben  Habus,  but  now  a  common 
lodging-house.  The  looms,  surviving  from  the  linen 
factory  established  in  the  palace  ages  since,  are  still 
at  work  within  ;  and  as  I  peer  between  the  heavy 
iron  7-(jas  I  hear  them  ticking  like  gigantic  clocks 
across  the  dark  and  damp  interior. 

Not  far  beyond  I  strike  into  the  Callejchi  de  las 
Monjas,  "  Nuns'  Lane,"  the  loneliest  in  Christen- 
dom. On  one  side  is  an  orchard,  on  the  other  the 
convent  and  the  grounds  of  Santa  Isabel,  steeped  in 
monastic  silence,  solitude  and  sadness.  Just  where 
the  lane  bends  upward  to  the  right  is  a  small  aque- 
189 


Ovanata 

duct,  from  which  they  hanged  the  rebels  in  the 
days  of  Philip  the  Fifth.  Hence  the  fantastic 
tales  attached  to  it;  though,  to  be  sure,  the 
aqueduct  looks  red  at  sundown  and  ghastly  pale 
beneath  the  moon  ;  and  close  beside,  a  single  cypress 
gives  it  guard. 

From  the  end  of  the  Callejon  de  las  Monjas  to  the 
tavern  of  "Three  and  a  Half  is  only  a  matter  of 
some  paces,  through  the  Puerta  Nueva  and  across 
the  Plaza  Larga  of  the  Albaycin.  The  tavern  is 
just  behind  one  corner  of  the  Plaza.  Its  owner, 
nicknamed  (why  I  know  not)  "  Trcs  )/  Medio,'"  a  cour- 
teous citizen  under  middle  age,  yet  stout  and  serious 
simultaneously,  "of  a  sedate  look,  something  ap- 
proaching to  gravity,"  will  lead  you  through  a  murky 
chamber  strongly  reminiscent  of  the  final  act  of 
Rigoletto — even  to  the  curtain  stretched  across  a 
portion  of  the  stage — into  his  orchard  and  the 
open  air.  Here,  smothered  in  foliage,  are  chairs  and 
tables  for  his  customers.  Trellises  are  overhead, 
and,  if  it  be  their  season,  pyramids  of  muscatel,  velvety 
both  to  look  and  touch,  caress  your  face  in  passing. 
The  orchard  overhangs  the  ancient  Cuesta  de  la 
Alhacaba,  once  perhaps  a  moat,  but  now  the  road- 
way leading  steeply  down  into  Granada,  Above  the 
Cuesta,  on  the  further  side,  some  fifty  yards  away, 
stretches  the  ancient  city  wall,  level  at  first,  declining 
then  towards  the  Puerta  Monaita,  and  parallel  with 
the  convent  of  Santa  Isabel  la  Real,  long  centuries 
ago  the  palace,  of  immortal  memory,  of  Daralbaida. 

When  once  the  fading  of  the  light  has  blotted  out 
all  detail  from  the  wall,  it  looks  exactly  like  a  minia- 

190 


H  "KiGbt  in  tbc  HIbavcin 

ture  Alhambra.  So  also  docs  the  Alhanibra  dip 
from  left  to  right  about  its  Alcazaba;  and  each  of 
these  battlements  might  well  be  one  of  the  Aliiambra's 
towers  ;  except  that  here  there  is  no  Darro  at 
the  foot ;  only  the  moated  Cuesta.  The  houses,  too, 
are  scanty  at  this  spot,  for  most  of  the  ravine  is  filled 
with  gardens.  Seldom  a  wayfarer  intrudes  upon  its 
silence :  his  road  lies  rather  through  the  bowels  of 
the  Albaycin.  Here,  then,  unpestered  by  a  human 
voice,  and  fenced  with  fruit,  and  Howers,  and 
trantjuillity,  you  are  at  ease  to  sip  your  glass  of 
thin  vintllo,  and  smoke  your  cigarette,  and  sniff  the 
grapes,  and  watcli  the  city  wall. 

There  are  two  writers  who  belong  particidarly  to 
the  Albaycin  ;  to  whom  the  Albaycin  particularly 
belongs.  Their  names  are  Gines  Perez  de  Hyta  and 
Manuel  Fernandez  y  (jonzalez.  Yet  Perez  de  Hyta 
was  not  a  Granadino  but  a  Murcian,  while  Seville 
was  the  cradle  of  Fernandez  y  Gonzalez.  It  is  the 
fashion  with  nifvny  an  ignorant  or  an  envious  critic  to 
scoff  at  Hyta''s  tales  as  idle  fantasy,  or  even  as  mis- 
chievous romance  disfiguring  the  solenni  front  of 
history.  Even  the  knavish  Echevern'a  has  mauled 
him  with  indignant  language  (although  in  a  later 
chapter,  and  in  order  to  procure  support  for  one  of 
his  own  insipid  fictions,  he  professes  to  withdraw  his 
hypocritical  anathema).  Prior  to  this,  the  priestly 
cheat  had  branded  the  Gucrras  C'lvilcs  as  "  fabulous 
throughout,"  lamenting  that  in  Granada  every  father 
gave  the  volume  to  his  children  for  their  school- 
book.  IJut  though  the  Murcian  novelist  is  careful 
to  effectively  disguise  historical  facts,  the  spirit 
191 


Granada 

of  Granada  is  his  very  own.  He  is  her  Walter 
Scott ;  and  makes  us  realize,  as  nobody  before  or 
after  him,  her  combats  and  her  riots  and  her  festivals  ; 
the  splendour  of  her  sultans  ;  the  valour  of  her 
warriors  ;  the  sentiments  and  passions  of  her  nobles 
and  her  populace. 

The  other  writer,  Manuel  Fernandez  y  Gonzalez, 
was  also  a  novelist  with  a  dash  of  the  historian.  He 
died  before  my  time  ;  but  many  of  my  friends 
remember  him,  and  tell  me  largely  of  his  eccen- 
tricities. His  tales  in  general  are  breathing 
images  of  old  Granada ;  but  Martin  Gil  and  The 
Monfies  have  brought  the  Albaycin  a  second  im- 
mortality. His  manners  were  pervaded  with  a 
quaint  conceitedness  that  furnished  endless  laughter; 
for  he  had  steeped  himself  in  bygone  ages  until 
he  firmly  thought  himself  their  citizen.  "  Gentle- 
men," he  declared  to  his  associates,  "  you  should 
salute  me  with  your  skull  in  your  hand " ;  and 
again, "  Spain  has  only  two  poets  :  I  am  the  male,  and 
Zorrilla  the  female."'"'  He  lived,  as  well  as  wrote, 
romances,  and  with  the  full  permission  of  her 
parents,  like  Eduardo  de  Contreras  in  Gorostiza''s 
comedy,  Contigo  Pan  y  Cebolla,  robbed  and  carried 
off  his  bride  (a  daughter  of  the  Albaycin)  because 
this  seemed  to  him  the  classical  road  to  wedlock. 
"  Show  him  a  sword,"  said  one  of  his  admirers,  "  and 
he  will  paint  an  epoch  for  you."'"'  He  threw  his  work 
on  paper  with  the  swiftness,  though  not,  of  course, 
the  versatile  and  varying  inspiration,  of  a  Lope. 
Once  he  was  told  that  the  Spanish  Congress  proposed 
to  reward  him  with  a  pension.     '•  Tell  the  Congress,"'"' 

192 


»  IHuibt  in  tbc  Blbnvcin 


exclaimed  Feniaiide/   haughtilv,  "  that  I  am  willing 
to  dictate  its  shorthand  writers  a  novel  of  a  hundred 
thousand  words  in  six  hours  ;  or  if  it  be  a  novel  of 
history,  in  seven, 
in  order  to  <;ive  ^^i*^ 

me  time  to  look 
up  Mariana."  But 
the  oddest  of  his 
customs  was  to 
prowl  about  at 
midnight  in  a 
costume  of  the 
seventeenth  cen- 
tury, not  onlv 
dressing  his  char- 
acters, but  dress- 
ing himself  to 
represent  them 
in  a  truthful 
mood.  How  of- 
ten, after  dark, 
while  roaming  through  the  Albaycin,  have  I  expected 
to  come  upon  the  lonely  phantom  of  the  novelist, 
striding  up  and  down  deserted  lanes  or  plazuclf/s, 
with  a  broad  and  plumed  chaviJ)crgo  ])ulled  upon 
his  brow,  a  velvet  capa  of  the  time  of  the  Philips, 
and  clanking,  underneath  the  cloak,  the  ponderous 
rapier  of  those  fighting  generations. 

And  yet  this  writer's  spirit  of  investigation  was  a 

wise    one;  for  everything  about   this    region   he  so 

loved  is  mystery  and  strangeness.     I   know  a  corner 

of  the  Albaycin — a  corner  made  for  moonlight  and 

193  N 


A  Corner  in  the  Albaycin 


^Bl•ana^a 

romance — first  a  mansion,  then  a  water-mill,  and 
now  a  ruin.  Hither  the  moon  may  penetrate,  but 
not  (from  the  sequestered  nature  of  the  spot)  the 
moving  air.  A  little  to  one  side  are  ranged  the 
worn-out  millstones ;  a  coat  of  arms  still  crowns  the 
doorway ;  the  door  is  dropping  from  its  frame ;  and 
over  shield  and  door  a  weeping  willow  spreads  its 
mute  and  melancholy  foliage.  One  night  last 
autumn  I  sat  and  watched  this  wondrous  nook  until 
it  seemed  inalienable  from  my  sight,  or  even  from  my 
memory.  My  thoughts,  inwoven  with  the  scene, 
were  quietude  itself.  How  Httle  I  anticipated  an 
adventure.  On  rising  from  beside  the  willow  and  the 
millstones,  I  took  a  turning  that  was  new  to  me,  and 
passing  along  a  narrow  lane  between  two  rows  of 
garden  wall,  with  only  here  and  there  a  dwelling, 
came  out  upon  an  open  space.  Here  was  the 
strangest  scene  of  any.  I  found  myself  in  a  deserted 
plazuela,  fallen,  this  one,  completely  to  decay.  I  do 
not  know  its  name.  I  hope  it  has  none.  Mountains 
of  rubbish  creaked  beneath  my  tread.  Houses  were 
all  around  ;  not  one  was  tenanted.  Lumps  of  fungus 
clung  like  clotted  blood  about  their  pallid  faces, 
horribly  suggestive  of  the  human  dead  ;  for  white- 
wash, in  these  Andalusian  cities,  seems  inseparable 
from  every  kind  of  dwelling,  occupied  or  no.  How 
does  this  happen  ?  Who  stops  at  sea  to  paint  a 
derelict  ?  Who  coats  these  shells  with  whitewash, 
even  when  their  inmates  have  abandoned  them  ? 
Yet  so  it  is,  and  whitewash  is  the  first  to  come  and 
last  to  leave;  at  once  a  building's  swaddling-clothes 
and  cerement.  Here,  then,  the  moonlight  stared 
194 


H  IWiiibt  in  tbc  Blbavicin 

tlii()iii;li  ciiijjtv  saslies  on  to  picturelcss,  iinpajK'ivd 
walls,  and  lib-Iike  rafters  sodden  black  with  a<;e. 
Above,  the  unite  Alhand)ra  stood  or  stalked  a<minst 
a  sky  leaden  yet  limpid,  niarvelloiislv  deep,  mar- 
vellously dear.  All  of  the  heights  were  in  eclipse, 
but  towards  the  valley  the  darkness  orew  more  dark, 
or  at  least  more  dense  ;  while  thereabout,  beyond 
the  edge  of  the  C'arrera,  I  seemed  to  catch  the 
murmur  of  the  stream,  as  though  the  spirits  of 
an  Arab  garrison  were  whispeiing  underground. 
The  moon  was  just  behind  the  Moorish  Palace, 
seen)ing  to  cast  her  rays  across  as  well  as  over  it. 
Even  the  parapets  and  ramparts,  locked  to  the 
rocky  ridge  like  teeth  within  a  jaw,  seemed  to 
have  lost  their  substance.  Dark  thev  loomed,  though 
not  with  the  opacity  of  thickness,  l)ut  of  shade.  A 
piece  of  cardboard  held  against  a  candle  has  the 
same  effect.  I  felt  I  could  have  poked  mv  stick 
through  them.  Nothing  would  have  convinced  me 
then  that  I  was  looking  at  a  mighty  mass  of  stone. 
Was  that  the  l^ow  er  of  C'omares  ?  I  could  have 
sworn  no  mortal  feet,  still  less  my  own,  had  ever 
stepped  within. 

I  stayed  as  in  a  trance  till  distant  chimes  .sighed 
forth  an  early  hour,  and  took,  in  my  regress,  another 
turning.  In  course  of  time  I  felt  myself  once  more 
in  contact  with  the  habitations  of  the  living,  though 
every  noi.se  was  dulcet,  and  subdued,  and  echolike. 
Across  the  studded  jjortal  of  a  carmen  I  heard  from 
time  to  time  the  murmur  of  a  fountain,  or  guitar,  or 
women's  voices;  while  here  and  there  the  overflow 
from  some  aljihc  coeval  with  the  great  Alahniai- diew 

195 


(BranaBa 

music  from  the  hollows  of  the  roadwav  like  the 
cooing  of  innumerable  doves.  At  length  I  stumbled 
on — and  almost  tumbled  over — a  lover  lying  stomach 
downwards,  whispering  with  his  dame  across  a  sub- 
terranean reja.  Such  cases  are  not  infrequent  in  the 
Albaycin.  Stomachs,  however,  as  Ibsen  demonstrates 
in  Hedda  Gabler,  possess  no  element  of  romance ; 
and  I  hastened  to  step  aside,  partly  from  delicacy, 
but  also  partly  from  disgust.  After  this  the  neigh- 
bourhood grew  busier  by  moments ;  and  here  and 
there  a  grocer^s  or  a  barber's  shop  was  open  still. 
I  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  Albaycin.  After 
all,  I  thought,  this  is  the  famous —  or  notorious — 
gipsy  quarter  of  Granada — not  the  Brummagem 
gipsies  whom  the  grinning  enganabobos  ("  take-in- 
fools  "''')  of  an  interpreter  displays  to  credulous  tourists 
in  the  courtyard  of  one  or  other  of  the  hotels,  but 
the  genuine,  uncontaminated,  unchristianized  gitano. 
Presently  I  passed  an  open  door  illuminated  from 
within.  A  handsome  woman  leaned  in  silhouette 
against  the  post.  "  Come  in,"  she  said  ;  and  in  a 
careless  yet  inquisitive  mood  I  entered. 

The  place  was  a  small  and  sordid  wine-tavern, 
stone  throughout.  A  coloured  calendar  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  wall ;  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
calendar  a  small,  round  hole,  browned  at  the  edge. 
Put  a  person  in  the  place  of  the  calendar,  and  you 
have  a  really  elegant  murder,  that  would  have 
enchanted  De  Quincey  as  constituting,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  art,  a  huge  advance  upon  the 
primitive  dagger-thrust  of  the  Morisco.  This 
calendar  and  the  bullet-hole  through  the  middle  of 

196 


H  -nigbt  in  tbe  HIbavcin 

it  were  positively  the  first  objects  that  met  my  eye. 
As  soon  as  I  turned  away  from  tlicm,  I  foiiiul  that 
the  woman  and  myself  wore  not  alone.  A  man,  of 
sinister  and  frowning  features,  lolled  behind  the 
counter.  He  had  (a<rain  from  I)e  (^uincey's  point  of 
view)  an  unimpeachably  Lombrosian  head  and  fiice. 
I  recotrnized  at  this  the  niceness  of  mv  situation  ;  for 
the  place  was  shady,  if  not  worse;  while  I,  not  beini^ 
prepared  for  this  digression  from  my  walk,  was 
trimly  clothed  and  wore  a  scarf-pin  and  a  ring  of  value. 
Somehow  or  other,  too,  the  door  had  closed.  How- 
ever, absorbed  in  contemplation  of  another  world  — 
that  dead,  mysterious  plazuela  underneath  the  age- 
less stars — I  felt  no  fear  of  anything  a  woman  could 
do  to  me,  much  less  a  man.  So  up  I  stepped  and 
demanded  wine  for  three.  The  sinister  proprietor 
poured  it  out.  I  took  the  woman's  glass  and  placed 
it  in  her  hand,  motioned  the  man  to  his,  and  raised 
my  own.  The  licjuor  was  a  foul  concoction,  "  faked  " 
and  weakened  both  with  water  and  sali%a  ;  for  in  these 
Andalusian  taverns  all  the  heeltaps  are  returned  into 
the  bottle.  I  think  I  spat  out  more  than  I  sipped  in. 
"  How  much  .?  ■"  I  asked. 

"Three  pernllas  (halfpennies),"  was  the  surlily 
delivered  answer  ;  "  since  you  are  no  Englishman.'' 

"  Exactly,"  I  said,  "  since  I  am  no  Englishman. 
If  I  were  an  Englishman  you  would  charge  me 
double  V' 

"  Toma,  I  should  think  so." 

The  woman,  who  was  seated  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  now  drew,  with  ostentatious  coquetry,  a  chair 
beside  her  ;  and  then  another  chair  beside  the  first. 

197 


©rana^a 

She  waved  her  hand  to  me  to  occupy  the  place  of 
preference.  Prudently,  as  I  thought,  I  moved  to  take 
the  scat  remotest  from  her.  Just  at  that  instant  the 
man  came  round  the  counter ;  and  if  he  had  looked  an 
ugly  ruffian  hitherto,  viewed  at  full  length  he  looked 
considerably  uglier;  for  one  of  his  legs  was  crooked, 
as  well  as  his  face  a  nightmare.  "  Tieiie  m'wdo  el 
seuor'do  ?''''  he  asked  with  a  sneer  ("  Is  the  young 
gentleman  afraid  ?  '")  Having  had  to  do  before  with 
some  of  these  pot-valiant  scoundrels,  particidarly  in 
the  Mundo  Nuevo  of  Malaga  and  the  Macarena  of 
Seville,  I  stared  at  him  (and  he  at  me)  for  quite 
a  while.  In  moments  such  as  these,  the  fate  of 
nations  is  decided.  I  remember  once  extolling  to 
Mr,  Cunninghame  Graham  the  systematic  courtesy 
peculiar  to  the  Spaniards.  "  Well  but,'""  observed 
that  most  agreeable  as  well  as  shrewd  of  satirists, 
glancing  me  up  and  down,  "  you  must  be  nearly  forty 
inches  round  the  chest."  I  thought  of  those  forty 
inches  now, and  howl  should  make  them  to  inculcate 
softer  feelings  in  the  bosom  of  my  adversary.  As 
for  the  woman,  I  think  from  the  bored  expression  of 
her  face  she  would  have  heartily  rejoiced  if  both  of 
us  had  come  to  grief.  Probably  the  i-eal  recipient  of 
her  favours  was  waiting  round  the  corner  of  the  street. 
However  that  might  be,  I  promptly  sat  beside  her, 
toucliing  her  very  shoulder  with  my  own.  "  Afraid,'' 
I  said,  as  jocularly  as  I  could,  "not  I,''  With  this 
I  shot  forth  my  hand,  gripped  the  bully's  wrist, 
pulled  him  down  upon  the  other  and  the  outer  chair, 
and  clapped  my  palm  upon  his  leg  with  a  report 
that  must  have  echoed  in  the  Audiencia,  Before  he 
198 


H  -Miijbt  in  tbc  Blbavcin 

had  reached  his  pocket  for  a  weapon,  I  shoved  him  to 
his  feet,  and  sent  him  reeHng  towards  the  counter. 
"Drinks  round,"  I  cried,  "and  let  the  foreigners 
alone.     I  am  an  Enghshman.'" 

These  Anglo-Saxon  courtesies  seldom  fail  to  flab- 
berixast  a  Latin  ;  nor  did  thev  fail  on  this  occasion. 
My  man  was  more  than  flabbergasted.  Besides,  his 
plans  were  utterly  upset;  for  Spanish  pi'oficients  in 
J^e  Quincey's  favourite  art,  who  would  not  scruple  to 
"  suppress  "  a  fellow-countryman,  content  themselves 
with  merely  cheating  foreigners,  especially  the 
English.  This,  I  maintain,  is  owing  to  our  national 
and  natural  prestige,  rather  than  to  any  appreciable 
effort  proceeding  from  that  ramshackle  circumlocution 
and  circumscription  office  denominated  at  Madrid 
the  British  Embassy.  In  either  case,  I  say  my 
man  was  more  than  flabbergasted.  He  seemed  to  be 
comparing  me  with  Spanish  ])ictures  of  an  English- 
man, such  as  are  seen  in  comic  papers,  almanacs,  and 
theatres.  I  wore  no  sun-helmet  and  no  whiskers  ; 
nor  do  mv  teeth  ])roject  a  (piarter  of  a  mile.  How 
should  I  then  be  English  ?  Nevertheless,  he  took  me 
at  my  word.  What  he  would  have  done  to  a 
Spaniartl  we  need  not  therefore  trouble  to  incpiire. 
What  he  did  was  to  seek  his  balance  and  stand  and 
gape  at  me.  At  last  he  said,  forcing  a  laugh,  "  I 
knew  you  were  a  foreigner.  One  can  see  it  in  your 
face." 

"  Thank  you,""  I  rejoined,  "  I  had  rather  you  saw  it 
in  my  face  than  in  my  accent." 

He  held  out  his  hand ;  and  since  I  have  shaken 
hands  with  millionaires,  I  did  not  feel  debased  by 
199 


(Brana^a 

taking  his.  We  sealed  our  peace  with  several 
libations  from  a  better  cask,  in  which  the  woman 
joined  with  greater  zest  than  in  the  conversation, 
and  chatted  freely  for  about  two  hours.  My  ex- 
assassin,  or  rather,  my  ex-assassin  in  posse,  had  been 
in  Cuba — or  said  he  had — and  since  he  described  to 
me  in  accurate  terms  the  port  of  Isabela  de  Sagua, 
which  I  had  visited  as  a  journalist  during  the  war,  I 
credit  his  assertion.  He  had  also  done  some  smug:- 
gling  round  the  Campo  of  Gibraltar,  of  which  be 
told  with  not  a  little  picturesqueness.  Of  course 
upon  this  latter  field  I  could  not  claim  a  partnership 
with  him  ;  although  he  found  me  quite  an  interested 
listener.  When  I  got  up  to  go,  to  my  astonishment 
he  would  not  hear  of  taking  further  money.  "  Vaya,^'' 
he  said,  as  he  threw  back  the  door,  "  you  are  the  only 
decent  Englishman  there  is.     The  account  is  paid." 

Of  course  we  parted  friends.  First  the  woman 
gave  me  her  hand,  and  then  the  man.  I  pointed  to 
the  chair.     "  No  ofl'ence,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  None." 

"Good -night.'' 

"  Good-night.'' 

But  as  I  descended  to  the  town,  the  yellow  sun 
stood  out  from  the  dark  Sierra  like  a  tea  rose  from 
a  Granadina's  hair. 


200 


The  Alhambra ;  the  Ladies'  Tower 


XV 


The  Alhambra  by  Moonlight 

^E  Alhambra  bv  moonlight  !  Not 
the  gardens  of  the  Alhambra.  Not 
the  gardens  or  the  avenues  :  still  less 
the  Calle  Real,  thronged  and  profaned 
bv  gossiping  seekers  of  fresh  air.  Nor 
do  I  mean  the  Place  of  Reservoirs  ;  nor  yet  the  trim, 
newfangled  esplanade  that  flanks  the  Tower  of 
Justice.  Here  too  are  people  and  profanity.  \\'hat 
I  mean  is  something  old  and  strange ;  something 
that  I  alone  have  had  communion  with  while  all  the 
world  was  occupied  elsewhere.  This,  then,  is  what 
I  mean— the  Palace  of  the  Moorish  kings;  the  soul 
of  the  Alhambra  ;  the  Alhambra. 
201 


©ranaba 

Year  in,  year  out,  a  multitude  of  modern  men 
and  women  acquaint  themselves  with  this  immortal 
pile.  Year  out,  year  in,  they  come,  and  go  away, 
and  bear  abroad  her  story  and  her  fame.  Wonder 
and  delight  are  always  on  their  lips  and  nearly 
always  in  their  heart.  And  yet,  how  singular  a 
thought  it  is  !  For  all  these  visitors,  only  the  sun 
caresses  tJie  Alhambra. 

The  night-porter  had  orders  to  expect  me.  I  found 
the  outer  door  ajar;  opened,  closed,  diew  back  the 
bolt ;  then  crossed  the  vestibule  and  stepped  with 
bated  footfall  through  the  Court  of  Myrtles.  For  all 
the  studied  softness  of  my  tread,  I  seemed  to  break  a 
twofold  silence — that  of  sleep  and  death.  Instinc- 
tively I  paused  in  reverence,  almost  in  shame.  And 
yet  no  sign  or  sound  reproved  me  here.  I  saw, 
unshadowed,  unbeclouded  by  my  puny  presence,  three 
marvellous  mirrors  of  the  crimson  sundown — the 
glassy  tiles;  the  glassy  pool ;  beyond  the  glassy  pool, 
the  glassy  leafage. 

The  court  concluded  at  its  northern  end,  not  in  a 
massy  door  but  solemn  darkness  in  a  filigree  alharaca 
frame.  Entering  through  this  the  boat-shaped  Hall 
of  Blessing,  totally  unlit,  I  sought  the  windows  of 
the  Tower  of  Comares  that  look  forth  upon  the  west. 
The  sun  had  just  declined  beneath  the  Vega,  altering 
from  shade  to  shade  the  whitest  wall,  the  deepest 
cypress  ;  here  the  level  street,  yonder  the  convent 
garden  of  the  Albaycin — "  el  encumbrado  Albaycin^ 
junto  con  el  Alcazaha.''''  Midway  between  the  Darro 
and  my  balcony  above,  the  "  rivulet  of  the  wood  " 
was  very  faintly  murmuring.     In  tones  that  I  myself 

202 


TTbc  Blbambra  bv;  /IftoonHabt 

could    scarcelv  overhear,    I  echoed    to  its   imisic  the 
plaintive  words  of  Ganivet  the  suicide  : — 

Que  silenciosos  donnis 

Torreones  de  la  Alhambra  ! 
Dormis  soiiando  en  la  tnueite, 

Y  la  miieite  estd  lejana.' 

Mv  whisper  floated  back  into  the  silence  -and  yet 
the  stream  sang  on  beneath  the  tower.  The  purling 
of  this  water-course  does  not  disturb  the  stillness  of 
the  spot.  Rather  it  seems  to  fortify  and  complete  that 
stillness,  much  as  a  delicately  played  accompaniment 
au<;ments  and  beautifies  the  volume  of  a  voice. 

I  looked  again  towards  the  darkening  west.  Our 
n)etaphors  and  similes  ])ortray  the  sunset  as  an  ending 
merelv.  But  it  is  all  in  all,  at  once  a  dissolution  and 
a  genesis  to  one  who  spells  aright  its  mystic  meaning. 
The  phases  of  its  infancy,  and  prime,  and  dose  are 
absolutely  homotaxic  with  our  own.  Cradled  in  rose 
and  slain  in  blood,  the  sunset  is  the  saddest  and 
exactest  emblem  of  our  destiny.  Each  swift  succeed- 
inor  stage  of  tone  and  colour  denotes  with  terrible 
truth  our  hopes,  ozcr  dreams,  our  doubts,  our  dis- 
illusions. Towards  the  moment  of  its  agony  the  hues 
of  sunset  deepen.  The  face  of  day  turns  ashy  pale,  his 
lips  turn  purple.  Then  sanguine  streaks  proclaim  the 
mortal  gash,  the  murder  done ;  and  night  and  death, 
too  shamed  or  pitiful  to  strike  another  blow,  desist 
at  last,  enveloping  those  red  remains  in  sable  silence. 

Chastened  by  such  reflection  I  drew  away  to  visit 
the  othei-  courts  and  chambers  of  the  palace.  First  I 
looked  down  upon  the  small,  sad  patio,  wrought  In- 
Christian,  not  by  Moslem  architects,  where  the 
'203 


(Brana&a 

ghost  of  the  mad  queen  Juana  is  fabled  by  the 
superstitious  crowd  to  creep  and  peer  behind  the 
heavy  grating.  After  this,  pi-oceeding  to  the  Mirador 
not  far  beyond,  I  gazed  anew  towards  the  Vega  and 
the  Albaycin,  the  crest  of  San  Miguel,  and  the  valley 
of  the  Darro ;  and  then,  retracing  my  steps  across 
the  Patio  de  la  lleja,  threaded  the  underground 
approach  that  disembogues  into  the  Courtyard  of 
Daraxa. 

The  Court  of  Cypresses !  The  most  etht  real  name, 
the  most  ethereal  spot  in  all  the  enchanted  building. 
Four  walls  enclose  a  garden,  bordered  with  myrtle 
boundaries;  within  the  garden  two  medlars  and  five 
cypresses  enclose  in  turn  an  alabaster  fountain,  edged 
with  an  oriental  poem  around  the  border  of  the  cup. 
Its  waters,  overfalling  from  cup  to  basin,  moisten  as 
though  with  tears  the  tender  phrases  of  the  poem 
and  make  them  into  melancholy  music.  But  now, 
as  though  the  poet's  lips  were  bound  in  silence  and 
even  the  fountain  slumbered,  those  waters  were  not. 

The  scene  was  cold  and  sad,  yet  not  disquieting. 
I  sat  upon  the  sill  of  a  great  window  reaching  nearly 
to  the  ground,  unglazt  d  and  open  to  the  moon, 
though  guarded  with  herculean  bars.  Such  was  the 
contrast  between  the  moonlight  and  the  shade  that 
when  I  looked  towards  the  fountain  I  had  to  strain 
my  eyes  to  trace  its  shape,  but  when  1  looked  towards 
a  lighted  cypress  I  had  to  close  them  for  the  glare. 
No  daytime  shadow  is  to  be  compared  with  this ;  no 
sunlight  dazzles  so  fantastically. 

Outside,  across  a  dark  expanse  of  soil.  I  saw  the 
Torre  de  las  Damas  with  its  ragged  labyrinth  of  roof, 
204 


chc  HI  bam  In- a  In^  /iDoonliabt 

and  over  this  a  stately  row  of  sciiiiillatiii^  elms. 
Within,  a  corridor  ran  (K)\\n  before  nie,  and  another 
at  right  angles  to  it  on  niv  left,  forming  between  the 
two  a  corner  of 
the  court.  The 
other  corners 
were  concealed 
by  shrubs.  Along 
the  corridor  con- 
fronting me  were 
marble  colunnis 
white  with  icy 
purity,  while 
iasrjied  beams  like 
icicles  protruded 
from  between  the 
pillars  and  shi- 
vered on  the 
paving. 

Memories      of 


i"' 


The  Alhambra;  the  Court  of  Cypresses 


many     princes 
linger    here. 

looked  towards  the  Torre  de  las  Damas,  and  fancied 
that  I  saw  Boabdil  Heeing  from  his  father's  wrath, 
lowered  by  a  silken  rope  to  join  his  comrades  in  the 
whispering  wood.  I  looked  at  the  ceiling  of  the 
corridor,  and  thought  that  I  could  hear  the  emperor 
pacing  to  and  fro.  Yonder,  from  the  dainty  mirador 
across  the  court,  a  sultaness  had  drooped  her 
languorous  looks  upoi\  the  Darro.  \Vas  she 
regarding  now  ?  Kings  of  the  east  and  kings  of 
the  west  were  with   me    on  all  sides,  and  in   their 

}eo5 


0l•ana^a 

company  I  felt  at  once  exalted,  and  abashed,  and 
meditative. 

Therefrom  I  next  invaded  (advisedly  I  use  this 
word)  the  Court  of  Lions,  believed  to  wear  a  sinister 
and  horrible  look  beneath  the  midnight  moon.  I 
did  not  find  it  so.  I  found  it  melancholy,  as  the 
Court  of  Cyjjresses  ;  but  with  a  melancholy  something 
less  subdued.  I  stole  beside  that  ever-famous  foun- 
tain, and  the  lions  looked  at  me,  as  death  or  time 
might  look,  with  round,  expressionless  eyes  that  glare 
with  equal  measures  of  indifference  across  an  instant 
or  an  teon.  Why  should  I  fear  them  ?  The  atmo- 
sphere, or  rather  (if  I  may  coin  an  Anglo-Spanish 
word  whose  synonym  our  tongue  alone  does  not 
possess)  the  ((inh'ieiicij — that  which  was  circumfused 
about  me — seemed  even  benevolent  and  suave.  I 
knew  these  monuments  and  all  their  history  too  well 
to  shrink  from  them,  even  from  the  legend-laden, 
blood-bespattered  Hall  of  the  Abencerrajes  just  in 
front  of  me,  not  thirty  feet  away.  In  this  conceit  I 
felt  myself  a  privileged  intruder.  The  lowliest  scribe 
may  serve  to  pen  the  chronicles  of  kings.  So  with 
this  palace  and  its  inmates.  I  had  endeavoured  to 
set  their  story  down  in  earnestness  and  sympathy, 
and  in  return  they  seemed  to  recompense  my  loving 
labour  and  exempt  me  from  their  terrors. 

After  another  while  I  turned  aside  into  the  Sala 
de  Justicia,  profoundly  dark,  stabbed  with  an  arrowy 
moonbeam  here  and  there.  Now  and  again  a  falling 
scrap  of  stucco  ticked  upon  the  floor,  telling,  as  it 
were,  the  agony  of  those  illustrious  halls.  Then, 
feeling    my    passage    through,   I   penetrated    to   the 

206 


"Cbc  Slbambia  bv  /IPoonliobt 

venerable  Rauda,  and  stood  tlit-rc  till  the  clinibin«r, 
creeping  shadow  enveloped  the  gravelike  niches  in 
the  wall.  An  ancient  burial  place  of  Moorish  kings. 
A  kingly  burial  place  entombed  in  the  Alhainbra, 
lit  by  the  Andalusian  moon  and  stars,  kissed  by  the 
breath  of  the  great  Sierra  of  the  Snow,  and  faimed 
by  plumy  cypresses.  How  many  splendours  mingled 
into  one ! 

I  stole  away  and  found  myself  once  more  within 
the  Tower  of  Comares,  scanning,  asleej)  beneath  mv 
feet,  the  city  and  the  plain.  How  manv  memories 
and  how  beautiful  must  gather  at  such  moments 
"round  the  lover  of  Granada  and  her  loie — memories 
of  Moor,  and  Mudejar,  and  Christian,  and  Morisco  ; 
of  battle,  and  duel,  and  joust,  and  festival;  the  ringin<>- 
trumpet,  the  hooting  horn,  the  beating  drum,  the 
mellow  piping  of  the  f/?<Z^am«;  the  dancing  pennons 
and  the  multicolour  uniforms  of  all  those  noble 
families ;  the  green  and  scarlet  robe  of  the  Zet^ri ; 
the  azure  damask,  lined  with  silver  cloth,  of  the 
Abencerraje,  crowned  with  the  cream  and  azure 
plume ;  the  glittering  shields,  and  swords,  and 
cimeters;  the  mares  "as  white  as  the  Sierra  of  the 
Snows." 

Here  lay  the  Bibarrambla  even  now  ;  where  ladies, 
as  the  legends  tell,  gathered  to  watch  and  to  reward 
the  prowess  of  Granada's  chivalry  ;  where  sat  the 
sultan's  bride  resplendent  in  brocade  and  gold,  "  a 
red  rose  placed  upon  the  middle  of  her  brow,  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  rose  a  priceless  ruby,  dazzling  the 
eyes  of  all."  Round  the  sultana  stand  the  maidens 
of  her  court — Galiana  of  Almeria,  herself  a  prince's 

207 


ffil•ana^a 

child,  together  with  Sarracina  and  Cobaida,  Fatima 
and  Alboraida,  Jarifa  and  Zelima,  Gahana's  younger 
sister — each  name  a  legend  and  a  loveliness. 

I  lift  my  eyes  and  gaze  afield.  Yonder  is  haunted 
Albolote,  famed  in  many  a  battle-song ;  yonder,  the 
Fountain  of  the  Pine,  where  Albayaldos  and  his 
comrade  Alabez  adventured  mortal  combat  with  the 
Master  of  Calatrava.  Theirs  is  a  legend  of  Arthurian 
grandeur  that  I  found  myself  repeating  now.  "  So 
had  the  sun  arisen  about  an  hour  when  they  drew 
beside  the  fountain,  shadowed,  as  its  name  betoken- 
eth,  by  a  sturdy  pine.  Yet  nobody  was  near,  so 
leaping  from  tht'ir  steeds  they  slung  their  shields  upon 
the  saddle-bow,  antl  seated  by  the  fountain's  brink 
relieved  their  thirst  upon  its  cooling  water." 

While  they  were  thus  engaged  their  Spanish  foes 
came  prancing  up  to  the  encounter,  each  in  a  pard 
and  emerald  tunic,  with  a  cross  upon  his  shield  and 
feathers  of  two  colours  on  his  helmet.  Then  either  pair 
saluted,  and  in  a  tone  half  playful,  half  of  delicate 
courtesy,  the  Master  said  to  Albayaldos  with  a 
smile  :  "  At  least  till  now  we  are  the  losers,  being 
the  latest  to  arrive."  "  It  matters  not,"  rejoined 
the  Moor;    "not  in   this   circumstance    abides  the 

victory." 

Under  his  splendid  dress  each  knight  was  mailed  in 
massive  armour  cap-a-pie.  So  taking  either  pair  its 
proper  station  they  were  preparing  to  fall  on,  when  one 
of  the  chargers  pricked  its  ears  and  gave  a  neigh. 
Then  looked  they  all,  and  spied  the  valiant  Muza, 
armed  as  themselves  beneath  a  tunic  of  bright  orange, 
spurring  to  meet  them  from  the  highroad  to  Granada. 
208 


Zbc  H I b a m bra  b v;  /ID o o » I i ij b t 
Up  rode  he  and  drew  rein.  "  O  gentlemen,"  he  cried 
reproachfully,  "  well  did  ye  all  agree  to  bring  this 
matter  to  an  end  betwixt  yourselves.  By  Allah,  for 
all  my  spuning  I  was  but  on  the  point  of  time.  But 
how  is  this,  O  generous  sirs  and  strong  ?  What  is 
youi-  cause  for  battle;  or  have  ye  not  a  worthy  cause  ? 
A\'hat  shall  it  profit  ye  if  either  slay  the  other,  or  if 
both  be  slain  ?  All  of  you  are  my  friends  whom  I 
well  love,  and  what  mischance  soever  befalleth  unto 
you,  befalleth  also  unto  me.  Forego  your  enmities. 
Make  me  a  boon  of  this.  Shall  my  arrival  and  my 
prayer  to  you  have  been  in  vain  ?  "  And  as  he  spoke 
these  moving  words,  he  looked  more  earnestly  towards 
the  ^Master. 

"  Most  noble  Muza,""  said  the  JNIaster  then  ;  "  if  my 
antagonist  consent,  for  our  good  friendshiij's  sake 
right  gladly  will  I  lay  aside  this  skirmish."'' 

Muza  made  answer  ;  "  great  is  the  mercy  that  thou 
gran  test  me  ;  nor  did  I  expect  a  less  one  from  so 
principal  a  cavalier.  And  thou,  O  Albayaldos,  wilt 
thou  not  stay  thy  rancour  also,  and  be  friends  \\  ith 
him  ?  " 

"  Muza,"  returned  the  Moor,  "  it  may  not  be.  The 
Master  spilled  my  cousin's  blood,  that  is  so  present 
to  my  memory :  thy  prayer  must  not  be  satisfied. 
Yet  would  I  not  be  loth  to  perish  by  the  Master's 
hand.  Such  were  an  honourable  death  ;  or  else,  if 
I  prevail,  a  double  glory  shall  be  mine.  These  are 
my  words  :  in  them  I  am  resolved." 

With  this  broke  in  the  other  pair  of  combatants, 
Don   Manuel  I'once  de  Leon  and  Alabez  the  ^loor. 
"Gentlemen,"   cried   the    first,    "it    is    the    will    of 
209  o 


^Bl•ana^a 


Albayaldos  to  avenge  his  cousin''s  death.  Let 
him  work  out  that  will,  nor  hinder  him  therefor. 
Begin  our  battle,  and  let  Muza  be  the  umpire  of 
us  all." 

"  It  is  well  spoken,"  added  Alabez.  "  Why  waste 
our  time  in  words,  where  deeds  outweigh  all  talking  ? 
So  thou,  Don  Manuel,  exchange  thy  horse  with  mine 
and  let  us  draw.''  Then,  as  his  willing  foe  dis- 
mounted, "  take  this,""  he  said,  '•  in  payment  of  thine 
own ;  yet  verily  ere  long  the  twain  shall  be  the 
property  of  only  one  of  us " ;  and  each  remained 
contented  with  the  horse  that  came  to  him. 

Herewith  they  motioned  Muza  to  his  post  and  fell 
to  fighting.  Each  knight  was  quick  of  eye  and 
vigorous  of  arm,  a  master  horseman,  inured  to  every 
stroke  and  stratagem,  practised  in  every  wile  of  war, 
insomuch  that  the  issue  of  the  day  proved  arduous 
and  doubtful.  Now  was  a  helmet  shattered,  now  a 
gauntlet,  now  a  shield.  Now  they  would  hurl  their 
lances  from  afar,  now  close,  and  clash,  and  struggle 
furiously.  Now  it  was  Albayaldos  who  flung  the 
Master  all  along  his  charger's  neck,  clutching  the 
mane  to  keep  from  tumbling  underfoot ;  and  now  the 
Master  who  clove  the  other's  mail,  biting  the  flesh 
beyond.  Now  Alabez,  now  Ponce  de  Leon  would 
feint  and  wheel  like  falcons  round  their  prey,  or  now 
run  in,  and  shock,  and  grapple  hand  to  hand,  or 
carve  and  thrust  with  cimeter  and  sword,  till  blood 
was  spouting  from  each  horse  and  thiough  the 
harness  of  each  cavalier. 

So   when  the  afternoon  was  wearing  to    its   end, 
and  sky  and  sward  alike  were  coloured  with  abundant 
210 


"Cbc  Bib  am  In- a  bv  /IDoouli^bt 

crimson,  two  of  the  combatants  above  the  rest  grew 

faltering:  and  streny-thless.     These  were  the  Moorish 

champions,  both  of  whom,  unhorsed  at  lenoth,  lay 

prone  and  motionless  beneath  the  uplifted  dagger  of 

their      foe,     till 

Muza,      darting 

forward,    stayed 

the    conqueror's 

arm  and  begged 

their    lives,    or, 

in    the    case    of 

one,    the    scanty 

remnant     of     a 

life,  seeing   that 

Albayaldos    had 

received  three 

mortal    wounds. 

Who,   breathing 

feebly  and   with 

pain, declared  his 

wish    to     die    a 

faithful  follower 

of   Christ.       At 

this  his  enemies  (that  had  been)  rejoiced  exceedingly, 

and  raised  him  in  their  arms,  and  bore  him  to  the 

little  fountain  near  the  field,  and  by  its  brink  the 

Master  gave  him  Christian  baptisn),  together  with 

D(m  Juan  for  his  baptismal  name. 

Presently  with  many  a  gentle  word  the  Spaniards 
took  their  leave  and  rode  away  to  join  their  squad- 
rons on  the  shores  of  the  Genii,  while  Alabez  had 
washed  and  dressed  his  wounds,  and  staggering  to  the 

211 


The  Tower  of  Homage,  seen  from  the 
Albaycin 


©rana^a 


saddle  turned  his  horse's  head  for  home.  But  loyal 
Muza  watched  beside  his  friend,  until  the  other's  eyes 
grew  dim,  and  with  a  passionate  appeal  to  our 
Redeemer  on  his  stiffening  lips  Don  Juan  gave  up 
the  ghost.  Just  then  four  country  fellows,  carrying 
each  a  spade,  passed  by  to  gather  roots  for  fuel,  and 
these,  at  Muza's  bidding,  dug  the  warrior's  grave  and 
buried  him,  and  went  their  way  in  consternation  at 
his  wounds.  But  Muza  made  a  trophy  of  the  hero's 
arms  and  hung  them  from  the  pine  above  his  head, 
and  when  the  day  was  ending  took  the  bridle  of  his 
conn-ade's  horse  and  wended  slowly  home,  now  glanc- 
ing back  towards  the  place  of  death,  regarding  now 
the  empty  saddle  at  his  side,  now  contemplating, 
through  a  mist  of  angry  tears,  the  darkening  minarets 
and  sanguine  battlements  of  Granada. 

Such  is  the  tale  I  tell  myself  once  more,  gazing 
with  dreamy  eyes  into  the  enchanted  plain.  Then, 
as  I  turn  to  go,  each  frigid  beam  that  falls  across 
the  ajhnez,  discovering  in  the  circumjacent  gloom  a 
point  or  surface  of  old  ornament,  inspires  it  with  a 
sad  similitude  of  life  and  light,  until  the  deep  interior 
of  the  tower  looks  like  some  lesser  firmament  of  stars, 
whose  borrowed  brilliance  is  resorbed  by  the  pale 
moon. 

Solemn  indeed  is  this  Alhambra  now.  Now  is 
the  hour  among  all  hours  ;  when  night,  disrobing, 
trails  her  violet  vest  across  the  dim  Sierra ;  when 
cloud  assumes  the  shape  of  mountain,  mountain  the 
shape  of  cloud  ;  when  the  Vega  looks  like  billow 
^12 


Ube  Hlbambra  b^  flDoonligbt 

upon  billow  of  steel-cold  water,  and  the  city  like  a 
campo-santo  beside  a  desert  ocean,  her  white  walls 
staring  from  the  solitude — colossal  tombstones,  guard- 
ing the  memory  of  those  mighty  dead. 


Printed  by  Ballantvne  &  Co.  Limited 
Tavistock  Street,  London 


rv^ 


Oje 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


%^ 


4WKJUNi  1 
■'^'fC'D  LD-URt 
JUL  0 1 1998 


PSD  2343    9/77 


/ 11, 1 II 

3  1158  66940 '821 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  725  114    3 


